Over the summer his mother left him at the beach. He’d walk over the shingle, past the spidery cluster of sticks that was once a yacht, to a spot beneath the cliffs. While he was reading a man came up and asked if he wanted to wrestle. He looked up at the man, surprised, and replied « where ? » The man pointed to some ground beyond the beach. We never found his body.
October 10, 2012
This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 10th, 2012 at 5:59 am and posted in New poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
- RT @JoeOrtonWriter: Joe Orton fans pls RT Free event, free badge @KathyBurke @bendanielsss @russelltovey @TheWriterOfPain @ArfurSmith https… 1 year ago
- Lot of ants on the work surfaces this morning: like Salvador Dali's kitchen down there #antmuseli 2 years ago
- @LizziePepys Hello Mrs P, l've been away for a while. What's been occuring back the 17th century? 2 years ago
- House fire 2 doors down last night: got evacuated. Was most worried about 5 grand's worth of vinyl melting into nothingness #recordssafe 2 years ago
- @Joel_Hughes not a Queen fan, but I enjoyed this theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2… 2 years ago