When I Take my Dog to Wild Dog Cove
it is easy to pretend I am the only person
in the world and that he is my best friend.
While I amble westwards, he skitters up froth,
scampers in and out through the lap of waves,
noses his way amongst seaweed and sea-gifts
that smell bad. Sometimes he brings one to me,
puts it at my feet. If I pause to sit on the edge
of the cliffs, he nudges me
in case I have not noticed his stinky offering.
Scooped in the indent of the lowest ledges
of limestone boulders, I am drawn eastwards.
That glow of gold balloons into a surprised sky
sending its rays of light into town, and sparking
the foam-capped waves with pink.
This captivates the dog. I am left alone again,
on the edge of my weather-carved seat,
agog at the morning’s splendour but distracted
by the smell of a single rotting fish.
This is a beach
where you can gather
a bit of pace
for stretching out
on clear days
for hurrying onwards
on gusty ones.
A border of reefs
keeps waves gentle
so that slight squeak
of sneaker on sand
serves as counterpoint
to the swish of water.
Tidal rhythm underscores
a quickening stride.
against distant cliffs.
Listen for the applause.
E A Gleeson has published three collections of poetry, most recently, Small Acts of Purpose with Interactive Press. She teaches creative writing and works part-time as a celebrant, and in bereavement support through her funeral business. She is currently working on two poetry collections, The Estonian Connection and The Peterborough Poems.