<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sea Change<\/strong><\/p>\n The sea hoards broken drink dispensers but you can hear it clanking, gasping over everything. Every beach memory blurs fast hasn\u2019t lived long enough The high street misled me, washed My trousers are drenched, shoes ruined, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Carl Griffin<\/strong> is from Swansea and has had poems published in Magma, Poetry Wales <\/em>and Cheval.<\/em> He reviewed poetry collections and for Wales Arts Review. He was long-listed for the Cinnamon Pamphlet Poetry Prize and the Melita Hume Prize.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sea Change The sea hoards broken drink dispensers and bones sinking in hot dog rolls. It\u2019s been stained with red sauce. I heave my burger cart over sand dunes, shatter plastic spades and mollusc shells. All I believe could rise from the water, to brown in the sun, and won\u2019t stop the drowning. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15710","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15710","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15710"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15710\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15797,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15710\/revisions\/15797"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15710"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15710"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15710"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nand bones sinking in hot dog rolls.
\nIt\u2019s been stained with red sauce. I heave
\nmy burger cart over sand dunes, shatter
\nplastic spades and mollusc shells. All I believe
\ncould rise from the water, to brown in
\nthe sun, and won\u2019t stop the drowning.
\nThe cart would be metaphorical<\/p>\n
\nunder unexpected weight, gearing up
\nto break apart like quicksand or a heart,
\nits wheels squeaking, hidden in snakes
\nof bladderwrack, smoke still lisping
\nfrom the grill, the fizzing as two cups
\nspill on a bump. This heavy cart
\nis my tinnitus until the sea talks<\/p>\n
\ninto wooziness. And waves. I imagine
\na stranger watching from afar,
\ncatching sight of a man pushing
\na burger cart over an unspoiled
\ntidal flat, not seeing depressions and grooves
\nI have to negotiate, the pooled
\ntrenches and bumps. Whoever moves<\/p>\n
\nto have enough strength to push
\nthis cart. The cart would be
\nmetaphorical but my aching arms
\nstrain under the tension, heaviness,
\nmy skin burning. This mini meat farm
\nall day has smelled alien to me.
\nI should have taken up cleverness.<\/p>\n
\nwith paths which were solid and flat
\nso I couldn\u2019t feel the exertion.
\nThe railings, at least, forced me to think
\nbefore blundering into a splat.
\nThe wheels squelch and sink
\nuntil I have to heave my burden
\na few inches above a wave\u2019s swash.<\/p>\n
\nsweat and spit falling off my skin
\nlike the raw burgers and sauce bottles
\nfalling off the cart. It all splashes. And floats.
\nEither my weak, tearful body buckles
\nor I choose to drop the cart. Thinned
\nin a heartbeat. A tiny bit of sea drinking
\nwhat controlled me. I turn back. Without the padded coat.<\/p>\n