Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks November 2014: Remembrance | Page 9

And the gulls feathers pitched in our castles
That would sway in the wind like our very own dream catchers.
And when the waves crept in to lick my toes
It was time to go.
I cocooned in a bundle of sandy towel,
And dad a mule with buckets and spades and sunburn.
We’d saunter home and set our clock
For tomorrow again.
When I pass that dull old beach in Kilkee
I feel a twang of pain.
For too few kids are digging there.
Indoors they prefer to stay.
On iPhones and iPods and iPads.
All the I’s and not enough we’s,
Not enough real memories.
Each grain of sand on that tired beach
Is a gem uncovered.
By many curious spades.
Each rolling wave polishes them
In preparation for the spades to return.