hot and tired
the sun beats me down,
no violence
but for certain
no benevolence
and I need all defences.
I hat-share with another
of less foresight,
eyesight cooled by new shades,
tongue licked by ice cream,
cardboard cup of weakly satisfying tea.
noise, excitement, awe,
strikes, soars, swoops,
cameras click and binoculars pan,
babies cry and throw plastic bottles,
tattooed parents sip cold beer
and polystyrene packaged chips with sausages
are consumed out of duty to a tradition
best reserved for windswept seaside towns in March.
homeward we queue and complain
but there is no one to listen.