As a boy

Maybe five or six

Before a time of mods and rockers

I always complained about

The shingle under my feet

Large hot stones

Protruding, standing up

Pushing, shoving

Brown grey and white

Cooked and baked by the sun

Difficult to walk on

 

Sitting on small pebbles further down

Leaving an impression of my bum

Whilst nibbling on an ice cream cone

Shivering under a towel

Salt clinging to dry skin

Knees up to my chin

With towel around body and legs

Not enough to protect

As a sudden breeze comes off the sea

 And pushes goose bumps forward to appear

 

Bored and told not to throw stones

I pout trying not to moan

The sand is quite a few steps away

The sea further still

But always worth the trek

To run and dance one more time

Kicking water in and out

Of gently lapping waves

Never wanting to come out

Other children screaming with delight

Like me never wanting to go home

 

Then the final push at the end of day

The bedraggled walk back up the beach

Stumbling towards firm hot dry land

Sandals riddled with tiny pebbles

The relentless drag along the prom

With bucket and spade in hand

And that awkward tired gait

Past ice cream and candy floss

Kiss me quick hats and bawdy postcards

Me complaining, trailing like a limp rag

Behind mum and dad

Not wanting to retire

Not believing it’s getting late

Being verbally dragged

To home bath and bed

Then yawning through the door

Head on pillow

Just can’t wait!