The shore relaxes
as the setting summer sun
follows the tramp home
of barmy burnt beach lovers
with life’s clutter
in stripy bags.

All is quiet now.
There are seagulls
who poke at mysteries,
and a lone pink plastic windmill
pines for her ‘cheap-day-return’ friend.

Time
for the etch-a-sketch tide
to wipe names of sandy lovers
and criss-cross, flip-flop footsteps.
Then,
the final invasion
as an army of doomed sandcastles
await
crumbly destruction.

All will be clean
for tomorrow.

Phil Lucas

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harlyn-bay-summer-evening/