Poetry

Just Another Night at the Seaside - by Murray Lachlan Young

It was just another night at the seaside.
The tide had come in and the sun had gone down
the shutters were up, the blank day had been drowned.
There was flickering light from the piers sad remains
a charred amd smoking skeletal mounument
hissing salute to the arsonist's flames.
And the youth were about their youthful business
of tranquilized vandalism, Temazepam sex,
some on the brown going down on the ground,
drowning with joy in a fluidless vortex,
of casual car theft and chemical stargazing.
The youth, I would say, were just doing their job.
Some would call it low art, others plainly degrading.

For it was just another night at the seaside.
Just another shrill moped on the prom, prom, prom.
Just another chilled posse of corned-beef-legged girls
begging for action - and it all smelt so strong.

For it was just another night at the seaside.