After the prisoner

Harry holds the half handed coast,
its head under its cove(r)s,

sketches in the sand whilst it undresses,

the rock-pool zip, star-fish corset.
Wispy cheeks reddled
(house wine in his belly bleating)
feet in thimbles, harry the sand – harry - harry -

Harry with his half flagon,
propositions the welsh ocean,
half-awake, half-flattered,
brushed the blusher from the bed sheets:

“Porth-porth-porth, porth-ma-dog!”
dune strummer,
beer spiller,
half stammering Harry - his bottle singing:
“glom onto this o coral creatures,
o webbed things,
o di-v-ine upholsterer,
whom plants his stash within the furniture.”