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.
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