On The Coastal Path at Pedngwinian

On the south-west coastal path

we are alerted, Lorraine and I,

to the coming of a marvel.

Four women wrinkle faces in the wind,

spotting sight of a behemoth

approaching at erratic speed,

a frantic jogger producing its own 

micro climate of sweat,

panting around a corner

and very nearly veering off the cliff.

More casual passers stand aside aghast

as if pants past, oblivious and sodden,

bleeding nipples like beacons 

under its drenched vest.

Thankfully the zealot runner was male,

unforgetable in its passage.

Some people like that kind of thing.