Like backdrop stills on fifties film noir reels.
Dark clouds hovered ‘round sea gulls on attack,
Swollen waves rolled heavy like iron wheels.
No fishermen dared test the coarse wet sand
And downcast walkers trudged their way back home,
While watchers sat in cars parked on the strand,
Counting the sets and pointing at the foam.
As brine fizzed frothy on each curling crest
In failing light an eagle cut the air,
Swooping through every swirl to catch its quest,
Before it soared on wind-fired wings with flare.
And then the freezing gusts cried out like prey
While rain pelted the shore around the bay.