Even today over thirty years later staying at seaside towns reminds me of that weekend we had somewhere on the coast in a kind of boarding house not seen these days. You drove the old family van and I wore my blue batik halter neck. We must have walked along the beach. We would have drunk beer at the pub, bought fish and chips. We made love on the lumpy double bed in front of the small verandah and the next morning we went down to breakfast with everyone else. I knew the mums thought we’d be married soon and I didn’t want to think what the dads knew. You made faces at their kids but then you had so many younger siblings you didn’t even have to think about it. I wanted a cigarette but stirred my instant coffee. It was International Roast from a caterer’s tin. It always was. Your hand was sticky when it reached for mine underneath the plastic tablecloth.
Head scarves unravel
a toadie gulps on the line –
oh, the lighthouse moon!
This was inspired by posting Samuel Watson's haibun the other week. I don't begin to think I have the haiku aspect yet, but that's okay. I'll just keep on workin'. When you've had a bite here, go and fish over at the Tuesday Poem blog where you'll find some salty treats!