A bitter chill defied
by well-wrapped necks of
esplanade strollers, few and fleeing.
Moulting gulls pace the tide,
down at the margin:
heads to summer chocolate turning.
Streams that claw the cliffs; icy white
their fingers fall, brief meltwaters
to the shore, in early twilight.
Saturday teatime paused
at the clock tower’s
faded plaque, and tap with frozen bowl.
All seafront cafes closed,
boarded for repair:
the sky pulls a ragged new year scowl.
1986
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