I can scare children
as the Victorians aimed to do
even on an August beach
tell a fairy tale
one woven more cruel
than castles turned to sand and
washed into oblivion
by the evening tide
I can think a tale
in sea forests
black haemorrhoid weed
where pebbles become life form
or unfortunates petrified
by the moon eyes of fish
portents of doom
cruel just as shell is
made from the powdered
bones of man
I may tell of anti-tides
that snatch at fool child toes
those that venture further
than where they are meant to go
kids yanked open-mouthed
into water babies
minds maddened forever
in that perennial wilderness
I see your children Kingsley
Hans Christian Brothers Grimm
in silly striped
or frilly costume
about to test
their altered wills
with ghost ankles in the small surf
and imaginations bleeding
