…
…
It was the first place we lived together
that white walled top floor flat
in an old Brighton town house.
…
It was a war zone of cold rooms and drafts.
we’d push newspapers rolled up and folded
into the cracks and gaps to block the blast
…
from the windows sash when the wind blew in
over the whipped-up roiling crazy white sea
gales that rattled windows and frames and doors.
…
From our bed on early December mornings
we’d watch a tower crane overhang the Kemptown
road with a Christmas tree sitting on its jib.
…
Those were mornings of clear skies
after the waves of the gale had receded
the gas fire’s flames flickering low, a mix of yellow and blue,
…
you played that scratched Baden Powell vinyl record
and the strains of the Samba Triste
filled the wooden floored rooms above Belvedere Road.
…
In the day we walked the sea front watching crashing waves
stir the shingle while fishermen hauled the keel boats
up through the pounding shore below the kids rides.
…
our love was fiery then.
….
©robcullen18012020
