Walking barefoot among the chip bags,

coke cans and discarded food.

Are hot and sweaty people

In a not so pretty mood

Seagulls swoop in silently

For succulent sausage rolls

In the distance there’s a knock on wood

Old aged pensioners playing bowls

Argumentative couples abandon cars.

In private parking spaces.

Then ignore the window tapping from elderly angry faces.

Shops sell fish and chips on a Sunday

Each one has a queue.

Where fat ladies stand dressed in leggings, black bras and a tattoo.

Their kids all have skinheads and want ice cream and lemonade

Then they rush across, the busy road towards the seedy loud arcades.

A noisy gang are singing , dressed in unfavourable football tops.

Now its kicking off so early outside the pubs and kebab shops.

The sea front is fluctuating and the only things standing still.

Are a hot and tired Pitbull and the turbines on the hill.

Dark dirty clouds appear and the sands prepare for rain.

Soon the town is deserted and the people have all gone home again.

They will all be back tomorrow when the town has been swept clean.

With their lager cans, the sun tan fans,

Splash red skin with sun tan cream

Poet and I Know It’ Virtual Poetry Group Stockton on Tees Library.