Redcar Beach

I could hear the scum of the sea in the name,
surf breaking on rust-bleeding sands,
the hurl of the wind,
the insistence of truculent gulls,
the siren's come hither wail
that lured our fathers to land-wreck their days
under flare stacks that retched sulphured breath.

When I heard Redcar beach I could see
the brashness of flashing arcades
clashing with grey against greys
of pavements, of shoreline, of sea,
a horizon of dull cooling towers
on a sky-line bleached to ash pale.

When I heard Redcar beach
I could smell the sea-fret saline,
the rotten egg chemical stench,
chip fat on newspaper print,
bladder-rack sliming to slush,
effluent foaming the waves.

When I heard Redcar beach I could feel
the salt-grit of sand on my face,
your kiss in the long marram grass
while the sun puddled into the sea
and lights metamorphosed the Gare.