It's Ok If We Have A Common Enemy

You wouldn't go on the sand. I wanted to.
Muffled against the weather ignored you
skulking by the van, smoking in the cup of your hand
a tiny rollup - thin as french fry.
I stepped over the wall, felt the crust of the sand
break up. Crack. Hands in pockets
I made for the wavy foamed lip of the sea.
In the B&B we'd laughed at the woman's trinkets
a lifesize doll child cried into the seat of a chair.
She didn't know what to make of us - smirking
ordering full english - silent in her overblown room.
We were clever in the face of a tasteless enemy
her water feature trickled in the porch.
We held our sides. But out here alone with the wind
we can't speak. I walk the edge of the tide.
You smoke, waiting. Climb back in the van
as though you're colder than you are. Huddle
with the radio. I stay away from you
longer than I'd want to be on the beach, make my point.
Freeze.
We'll travel home in a silence they want to call
companionable.
I call having nothing left to say.