Caravans
I watched a man dive from Cromer Pier
the North Sea gobbled him up
as lovers kissed on the beach
In the caravan a goblin squealed
abandoned by its owners who gallivanted in the Kings Arms
Consuming the Seafood Special
and a bottle of red.
When they get back
the goblin will be dead
The river speaks to the sea
in between each tide,
they exchange fluids and salts
Dog Walk
A sludge filled Fiesta chokes Dickensian smog from a battered exhaust
the bowel loosening drum and bass pummels
my sensitive ears.
Two joggers run by oblivious
A pair of black panties sit on the grass verge
the Princess must have lost her undercarriage
As streetlights flicker amber into life
I walk past dull flats
and council houses where the television shines through thin curtains.
An elderly man puffs smoke rings
coughing an evening
cursing this stranger
that walks past
Richard Wink is a writer based in Norwich. He edits the litzine Gloom Cupboard http://gloomcupboard.com
Parasitic 