1073
Sandown's as its best in mid-july
But in the winter, truth to tell,
It draws a different clientele -
Nobody under 80 need apply.
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If you can push a nifty zimmer frame
To the arcade on the pier
There you'll find your usual chair
In its place, just ready for a game
Of bingo or, if you'd rather not,
Then spend a happy hour or two -
Given you've nothing else to do -
Feeding two-penny pieces in the slot
Of the one armed bandit, while your friend
rummages for her other purse -
But this could be even worse,
At least you two are still able to stand
Which is more than those who simply slump
In their armchairs at the Grand
Staring blankly at the sand
Or west towards the corporation dump.
Along the promenade towards the cliffs
Aged bodies slowly quake
Towards a coffee and a cake
Before they drift back home hoping the lifts
Are working and they don't have to fight
Four stories to their roof-top flat
Where their leaky panes and scabby cat
Await the silent darkness of the night.
Retirement to the seaside was the plan
Earl Grey and a nice Bath Bun
Cocktails in the evening sun
A stroll along the prom to hear the band;
But grey clouds on the cliffs and icy sleet
Pen up the silent days alone
No one comes and no one phones
No one's left who you might chance to meet.
On rare occassions, risk the trip you dread
To the Post Office to send
Birthday greeting to a friend
You have not seen for years, and may be dead,
Then return with a supermarket bag
Dinner for one to microwave
Own label brandy, and points to save
For Christmas - plus the coupons from the mag -
And then - and then what follows in the days
Alone, left staring at the sea
Alone, when what you hoped would be
Slips unnoticed on towards the grave.
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Sandown snoozing gently by the sea
Hopes the young will come once more
When the old folk cease to snore
Restoring its Edwardian bon-homie;
Brian Hick December 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 29.12.23
