A jet-skier scuds across the bay’s blue bands
Of waveless water, busting enemy dams.
A propeller plane putters past the sun
And fires his rays at a tangled tamarisk gun.
Sheppey grips her light grey snood of haze,
Pulls it up to hide her frightened face.
The flapping bunting tugs, avoids the advances
Of brown-glass-bottle-reflected lances.
Wooden hearts on ribbons frayed and worn,
Throw disfigured shadows down the lawn.
White, still, windless mills : Ys in the sky.
A seagull glides and shrieks. A child cries.