Beaches

At night, beaches wash away
Moon bathing students
Adults wearing sunglasses
Townies showing disrespect
To the calmness, to the quiet
Stopping at petrol stations
On dark, twisty country roads
Pissing regardless of foliage
Yelling at anyone walking
The sleepy town streets after 1am
Where bars close at eleven
Rolling up my jeans to the knee
I’m wading towards
France or Ireland
Geography hard to recall
After a skinful of lager
Light breaks through
Someone drives us home
But not before, we leave
Our Mark in the sand

Beaches

Local

It used to be no problem
To trick a bartender
Beating the identification parade
Appearing to be underage
Sitting under the heated beams
In pub gardens, around
One small soft drink
Rummaging for a fifty pence piece
To smash a few pool balls
Rip a few stitches
Before card machines
Bar brawls were the price
You’d pay for stepping on
Someone else’s toes
Spilling drinks, hoping
The karaoke machine
Would update its stale
Old book, as old as
Questionable bar snacks
Landlords hard as nails
Chained to their jobs
Locked in well past time

Local