Tunisia

Tunisia

Along the pan-hot beach, we played tag
with a squat boy from Brighton
And I watched as he and my cousin
sprung off the pier.

Arms slung by sides
Piercing the blue silk water,
Bodies spinning
Landing to reveal,
Bobbing apple heads.

In the blanching sun
The high -backed ants
Scored the Tabasco earth.
We laughed at their swollen backsides
And beat their path with sandals.

When night smoked the light
We sat in a dead-end bar
Slurping full-fruit cocktails
Enjoying the scratchy feeling
Of sugar smattered lips.