Forlorn Point, Wexford

On Forlorn Point
slithering over seaweed
and crunching
over shells

he boot ends a coil of rope
toes over a rag of net
- a old beachcomber
under a setting sun.

A solitary cormorant
flaps purposefully
- an outgoing pterodactyl.

What the old man will take
from Forlorn Point

Is the taste of a wind with salt
on its breath
and the splash of the swell
on the rocks.