Birdbrain

A man on the beach is taunting a seagull,

mocking the bird’s swagger, mimicking its squawk,

while he uses a metal detector

to search for pieces of copper

worth less than a packet of crisps.

A woman reads with earphones in

while a pair of toddling twins

hit one another with sandy spades.

A couple lie on a towel too close to the sea,

sharing kisses and germs.

I leave my belongings in a pile,

stuff my socks into my shoes

and go to the shore.

The smarting sea

strokes my feet

and I would like to feel

that freeze throughout my body

but I am dressed in jeans and a jumper

and cannot dive in like the dog nearby,

who yaps and bites at the waves.

And then the rain comes,

heavy with wind.

Sand scratches my skin.

I return to my things.

But.

My backpack has gone

and with it all

my spare clothes,

my phone,

a KitKat I stole from Marla.

Shit.

Bastards.

Bollocks.

Shit shit shit.

I run along the beach,

empty

now apart from the metal detector man.

He stops,

holds opens his hand to flaunt a find:

one golden hooped earring.

Luck is everything.

You just have to know when it’s your day, he says.