A Seaside Cafe

Down the cliff path, overgrown, Over the lawns rarely mown, Towards a gold globe on top of the bandstand, Victorian echoes of sweet England   Summer sweat and old people talking, An unfortunate rasp follows a tramp hawking, Scruffy young men eat crisps and chocolate, Their world is now, the rest can wait   A talking addict stares at those hot and weary, His stories endless and breath beery, Tha ancient lady sips her tea, She’ll still be there at half past three   The expensive new door traps another child, Operation unfathomable, a mother goes wild, Dogs bark at a man with dropped trousers, While absent parents ignore kids on brousers   Silent couples watch those with loud voices, They mingle together as a bingo winner rejoices, Curling sandwiches vie with cakes, But it’s the backs of necks which the sun bakes   It’s winter now, and a gale is blowing, The room is empty, high tide flowing, Staff still have a friendly word, But in the toilet, floats a lonely turd