Babet(te)'s feast

Wild, white, foam-flecked foreshore.

Birds briefly braving the wind.

And the horses (white) rage against

the grey light.

Seaweed, sand, scattered on the tarmac.

Waves cresting and ripping over the harbour walls.

The last of the storm, the remnants

of conversation between old fishermen

in the bar.

Bring on the dancing horses,

all are memories, froth and foam.

Sandy Wilkie

October 2023