Wilderspool Causeway

Who’s that on CCTV
wandering up through corridors of uncertainty
for just those few minutes of peace?
The day has a muted pallor, light clouds –
you can feel it in the carpet.
It’s an in-between time
for using the facilities, leafing through
magazines and memories,
finding the secluded sea-lounge,
maybe: wondering where your family is.
You don’t mind if the insulating grey lifts,
stays or just gets that bit lighter
and you won’t say it’s a wasted day
when the sun carries its own pressure.

N.b. This is a poem from Tired Resort, a sequence set at the coast towards the end of summer. The other poem on these pages from that sequence is Too Active.