Elevenses at the dunes’ end
We settle for the safety of scones,
in the bistro bedecked
with an astroturf floor.
Wiry seats, but if we like
we can sit on that bright plastic grass
which extends over benches, up walls.
In midday’s heavy gloom,
netted fairy lights out-starry glass
on the half-tented garden’s low roof.
Had we just waited for night,
a huge orange moon might spacehopper in,
all squint rubber grin and bent ears.
The scones were home-made and light.
Beth McDonough’s poetry appears in Causeway, Shooter Agenda and elsewhere; she reviews in DURA. Handfast (2016, with Ruth Aylett) explores family experiences of dementia and autism. A pamphlet is coming…