Mary Wight- New Poetry


Bellies sweet with prawns and Guinness,
they dawdled back along the strand
needing nothing more.

A sea trout, eyes gone, body
gleaming still, lay as if waiting
for a wave to swim it back.

She took a photograph as
he struck out ahead warning of the tide,
footprints already filling.

She saw him climb a wire, then, half-
blinded by the glare, only miles and
empty miles of sand.

She was running, stumbling, flailing,



Rain b...


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