Deckchair

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Deckchair

Each morning I am dragged out like a condemned man

and arranged before the morning sun.

The wind haunts my canvas as I stare at the tiring sea.

The pebbles beneath my feet yearn to roll away and

Feel the warmth of the nourishing sun.

An elderly man tests our mutual strength with young bones.

I can hear the sea regain its strength, it turns and burns

And heads for home with the ancient sun.

Children are dried as the tide approaches me.

I�ve heard mothers laugh and their babies cry and seen ice

cream and blood in the evening sun.

I am folded and retired as the sea reclaims the breaking stones.