I’m back with the Raven again, thought I’d shaken him but he keeps stealing into my ideas
The Raven On The Beach.
The Raven turns away, disinterested dark black
on the roof of the beach stall with its red paint
scarred from overwintering on the beach.
For the moment he has replaced the buckets,
spades, balls and chairs. Now he eyes the empty
chip bag wrappers, gauging the weight
for the possibility of food. Otherwise it is the tide
line again. Salted bait and seaweed dragged
back and forth over the sands. The prom
is a better option, but the cold keeps the families away.
No, there is nothing to see here.
Walking casually along the frames of the building,
head weaving in the wind, he watches the sea, patiently
waiting for summer and the children.