Didn’t We Have a Lovely Time?

A polystyrene tray of fingers, smell of cold chip fat still lingers.

A wounded kite hangs in a tree, crying out to the wind.
An empty plastic bottle begs to share a drink with someone.
A sodden sock lies still and helpless, abandoned by its faithless partner.
Dirty sweets lie strewn on soft sand, the last of a forbidden sugar rush.
A shining white carrier bag escapes across a clear blue sky.

A polystyrene tray of fingers, smell of cold chip fat still lingers.

A crumpled can leaks its last drop of lager into a dried out pool.
A lime green tennis ball sits lost and beaten, its gaping belly torn apart.
A folding chair is collapsed in a heap, broken legs held out in submission.
A half eaten sandwich sinks into salt sand, remembering an argument.
The severed handle of a plastic spade sails out into the North sea.

A polystyrene tray of fingers, smell of cold chip fat still lingers.

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