out beyond the samphire beds
muddied shoes muddied legs
hang expectant over bridge’s edge
dangling for crabs
saltmarsh ditch with water lapping
seagulls hang with wings unflapping
sunset pink with all the trappings
frame this gilded scene
beneath serene North Sea sky
big brother emits triumphant cry
for mother with her net to try
coordinate the catch
whilst over off a little way
dad and little brother play
amid the mud and oozing clay
throwing sticks and stones
the bucket fills at quite a pace
as gentle sport becomes a race
with other families neatly spaced
along the bridges' span
dad calls out in ballyhoo
little brother’s lost his shoe
his foot is stuck in stinking goo
right up to his knee
the can of tuna almost gone
shadows match the sinking sun
its time to get our jim-jams on
and into sleeping bags
from the tilted bucket pours
two dozen crabs maybe more
scamper sidewards ‘cross the shore
into the pitch dark dike
salt air breath conveys the talk
of crabs and wormcasts as they walk
with tiredness not conceived or thought
for custard creams and cocoa
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The Blue Book
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