Walking along the Prom
I make a judgement about the waves.
Are they licking the edge of the path
or swallowing it whole?

Will my dog and I be safe
beside this body of water
that is sometimes calm and still,
sometimes shuddering, convulsing?

Next to the path, signs of past storms:
concrete blocks pulverised into fragments
bits of metal and plastic
vomited onto the shore.

Above me, the steep slope
has become a cliff,
chunks of earth
bitten out.

We used to build sandcastles on holiday –
make the walls higher, the moats deeper,
then watch, helpless,
as our castles vanished.