The salty sea spray sprinkles my skin,

like summer showers

That begin 

Then end 

Suddenly 

I stand in front of a crust forming at the edge of the beach

 

Splintered, softened wood 

Seaweed

Stones

Shiny when wet

Their colours

Like common jewels

Topaz, ruby, emerald, turquoise, coral pink, terracotta

All there for the picking

All at my feet

This November afternoon

 

This could be me 

Then aged seven or eight

On holiday

Staring at the sea, listening

Head cocked 

To the ocean

Inside the shell

Clasped tightly

To my right ear

I’d scrawled my name in the sand already

Thinking it quite a daring thing to do

But someone had beaten me to it first

And  made clear their undying love for Brenda

So I worked at least ten or twelve feet away

Not wanting to look like a saboteur

Mum and Dad sat wisely 

In the shadowed safety of the 

Grey promenade wall

Cool and relaxed against the crumbling concrete

A carrier bag filled with butties

Crisps

Pop

By their side

I can just about hear my Dad 

Shouting, embarrassingly

Telling me to roll up my pants

“ Roll your bloody pants up John, roll em up!

They’ll get wet through”

A huge splash 

And it was already too late

Mocked by the waters 

I was  soaked straight through

The exhilaration

The suddenness

Taking me by surprise, 

And I laughed so hard

Was so shocked

That I forgot  for a few brief seconds

About being self conscious 

And worried

And...different

Other lads playing football screamed loudly

One of them pointing

Laughing at my watery encounter

I thought they were vulgar 

But secretly

I wanted to be like them,

Not caring

Not concerned what others might think

Not teary eyed 

 

Mum and Dad standing up 

Wave towels

Embarrassingly

For me to  dry off my pale, sea splashed body

Dad shouts again

“Come on John! Tha’ll catch thi death of cold theer!”

 

Waving back before he could muster up breath and shout out again

I start to run 

Then walk slowly

And with great trepidation 

For fear of judgement

From the other lads

Looking around me

I begin to make my way back 

Passing judgemental stares

And, predictably

The usual verbal abuse

Bare footedly

Zig zagging a route 

Around

Dead crabs

Shells 

And other potential hazards