Walking Whitley Bay Blues

Clouds whipped by winds in these powder blue skies
Indian restaurants, burghers and fries
hairdressers, barbers and charity sales:
Walking Whitley Bay.

Bad singing tracksuit boys crawling the curbs,
Lloyds bank is closing, some folks are perturbed,
old ladies are felled by the force of the news: 
Walking Whitley Bay.

Park View is crowded with boutique supplies,
antique spoons, vintage vests, chintz curtain-ties,
down past the arcade to where the sea sighs:
Walking Whitley Bay.

The churches, the palm trees, the Premier Inn,
the profane and the holy, and much in between, 
to Mothering Sunday, the Star of the Sea:
Walking Whitley Bay.

Daffodils sway to the sound of the breeze,
red postal pillar box standing sentry
over Victorian porticoed streets:
Walking Whitley Bay.

Carry on down to the blue of the sea,
smell salt and vinegar, fish as they fry,
seagulls are circling, squawking at me:
Walking Whitley Bay.

Di Meos is crowded with starlings and hounds
so many paws here, I can’t quite sit down
I’ll look for a quieter place by the beach:
Walking Whitley Bay.

Look to the lighthouse, at high tide, midday,
the seals are at peace, on the rocks where they lay
and I’ll emulate them, serene I will stay:
Walking Whitley Bay.

Happy 84th Birthday, Bob Dylan!