Dusk
out beyond the samphire beds
    muddied shoes muddied legs
hang expectant over bridge’s edge
    dangling for crabs

saltmarsh ditch with water lapping
    seagulls hang with wings unflapping
sunset pink with all the trappings
    frame this gilded scene

beneath serene North Sea sky
    big brother emits triumphant cry
for mother with her net to try
    coordinate the catch

whilst over off a little way
    dad and little brother play
amid the mud and oozing clay
    throwing sticks and stones

the bucket fills at quite a pace
    as gentle sport becomes a race
with other families neatly spaced
    along the bridges' span

dad calls out in ballyhoo
    little brother’s lost his shoe
his foot is stuck in stinking goo
    right up to his knee

the can of tuna almost gone
    shadows match the sinking sun
its time to get our jim-jams on
    and into sleeping bags

from the tilted bucket pours
    two dozen crabs maybe more
scamper sidewards ‘cross the shore
    into the pitch dark dike

salt air breath conveys the talk
    of crabs and wormcasts as they walk
with tiredness not conceived or thought
    for custard creams and cocoa