Shells by Juliet Wilson
(Morecombe Bay February 2004)
Grey skies, cold and bitter wind
a share of a damp mattress
in an unheated room.
You follow orders from the brother
to the man who let your cousin die
in a truck approaching Dover.
Your parents wait back home
with nothing but pain and a photo of you
smiling through the English rain.
Shells held to your ear
murmured promises, but they are empty
here in devilâ€™s beach.
Treacherous sands shift
impossible to know where is safe
where will suck away your life.