Sunny starling-spattered skies
swirl down to autumn-coloured seafront,
Tides that come and tides that go
a sea that never really was;
A little London by the sea
hums and buzzes
bleats itself;
Blue skies back white rendered buildings,
wrought-iron railings climbing high
look down on busy footworn streets
and many different passers-by;
The little pretty fashion girls
with colour-spangled shapely legs
and huge emancipated breasts,
the ends describing little circles
on their sheer-look cotton vests;
And drunks and people drinking drinks
occupy the monuments,
people sleeping
people begging,
Go North young man
not said but thinking,
youths with nothing but a beer can
just for show or just for drinking;
All these people passed by me,
and all of them were passed by me
in Little London by the sea.

(The author’s copyright in this work has been asserted by Martin Nicholson.)

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