After looking into the pan of a Dudley Diplomat,
Amy heads, barefoot,
for the shore;
past Rajah, centre stage
at the Animalarium;
his spots stagnant in the big-cat cage.

On the sand she takes a boy’s kite:
starstruck, he stares
at ‘Valerie’.
Fighting the string’s heavenly tug,
she runs backward in saturated steps;
tilted face hoarding sunshine
for dark days.

Then, as the sea approaches, reproaches,
she retreats to join the high-tide-line
of burnt shoulders and rainbow synthetics;
extended families of sandwiches and folding chairs,
all waiting for the water
to wash away their sins.

She rises from the salt baked pebbles
to buy a 99.
The man at the booth says,
“Have this one on me, love.”
And the sweet creamless cream that
drips on to her wrist is
divine.

• Kezia Green provided the following profile “A short lady with dark hair” – we'll be publishing another of her poems next month.