In the café village by the sea,
Angels live among us,
Held dear to my heart,
Spreading warmth and joy.

As do the bouncy, smiling sirens
Flitting between the Bays.
From the Admiral’s to the Soldier Poet’s
Sharing comforts of a kind.

Alas, their song no longer confounds
Adventurers needless of earplugs or restraints
Who sail past heedless of their languid tunes,
Intent on younger passing prey.

On the sand and in the grassy park,
Polyglot maidens far from home, looking for fun,
Browning their hypnotic tender roundness
Glistening blissfully in the torpid sun.

In the café village by the sea
The salt breeze invigorates
Waiters, musicians, poets and travellers,
Singers and surfers and uncles and aunts.

Bacon’n’egging their way through the day
Mixing with the cousins, bros and sisters,
Yummy mummies with baby-bonus kiddies,
Local walkers and yapping furry companions.

Shadows fall in the café village by the sea
When surfaces are scraped and peeled
Blisters of silent contention burst
Spattering unpleasant legal games.

Clusters of flushing errant hormones
Disrupt the friendly yin and yang
Fluttering outbreaks of diatribe
Congeal  the lonely armchair greens.

Hungry homeless pull rank on seagulls
For discarded fishy chippies
Before blanketing down in caves
Or sheltered nests in the gully forest.

Sometimes at night in the park
Of the café village by the sea
Hordes of cosseted drunken youth
Scream their anger and bewilderment.

Smashing and fighting against confusion
Their inheritance of the shackles of privilege
Binding them to the comfort of continuity
They howl against their blessed destiny.

Not Summer

When daylight saving’s gone,
In the café village by the sea,
The sun goes down with a chilly thump.

Suddenly it’s six o’clock
And nobody’s around

Happy holiday funsters have flown
Back to Vienna, Frankfurt, Dublin and Rome
Madrid, London, Rio and Bristol

The village now a nocturnal habitat
Native creatures shyly return

Loyal local workers slumping
Off the autumn bus
Dragging home their briefcases
With take-away cuisine

“I promise I’ll bring the plate back”

Then of course, there’s Larry
Who no-one quite believes
Though the stories stay the same
His wallet has never been seen

Lounge Lizard Larry from LA
Self-described movie producer
Trader in nebulous commodities
And old mate of the stars

If half of what he says
Is somewhere near the truth
The other half is vivid madness
A bright-eyed whirlwind
Of barking mad enthusiasm

During crisp but sunny wintry daze
Locals have time and space to meet
Smugly glowing swimmers wave and greet
At some ungodly time of afternoon

“Quite warm today, really!”
They chirrup
In denial of the goose bumps
Purpling their limbs
Spiking their arm and leg hairs

But the best thing about not-summer
In the café village by the sea
Is that friends and neighbours
Have their street, park and beach back.

Slow uncrowded coffees
Ciggies in the park
Talking shit with mates
Strengthening friendships


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