Went To See The Sea
A blue plastic bag,
I finger a hole through to blue sky.
See, I imagined it the same:
only arcades and betting shops open
on Bank Holiday Monday.
You promise me things on trains and in rooms
and I see the sea through someone else’s window
as the sun shoves it to glisten and move.
At the harbour-front, coins slink and the prize falls
so just air is left for the metal to claw,
your eyes stay fixed to the grabber machine,
reams of tickets piling out of pockets,
finger pointed to the WINNER
and I leave before the last bet is called.
Outside, long strides, lone dripping wind,
gulls litter themselves into it.
JENNY MORONEY lives and writes in South London. With a search, you can find some of her short stories and poems published in several journals online. twitter handle: @moroneyjenny.