Westcliff (On Sea)
As a boy, Westcliff seemed like a foreign land,
A place of weekend fun, and frolics in the sand.
Later, he went there twice a month, for steak and sex:
For no other reason, whatever the season.
From their tiny window, they used to crane their necks
To see how pale, unsated passers-by
Would run towards the shelters to keep dry.