A LOCAL NUT DIGGING THE BEACH
People say that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder BUT
What I want to know is who decides about madness? How can you define that?
Am I the mad one for staring from my window?
Down to the beach, the water’s edge, where
For the last few days, weeks, months, maybe even years,
A young man comes, spade in hand, he comes
To dig up the beach, always the same spot
Always the same shape of destruction before
Sitting there, as if on a throne, he sits by
The edge of the water just like King Alfred
Holding the seas at bay just for us
As I sit staring from my vantage point I have to ask,
Is his madness a cry for help
Rather than more fakery of weirdness from one of the town’s young pretend assorted nuts?
I’d really like to know the purpose of his daily dig
But my paranoia has me worried he hit me
On my head with his spade and take me out
To sea, dumping my body to become nothing more than
Fish food with nothing left of me for anyone to see.