The dverse prompt is to write a postcard poem. Not wishing to show favouritism, I’ve written four poems, or postcards to different people from different people in different places.
and I’m here,
and all around,
the gulls fly,
like they did when you
It’s hot here, and the sea is blue,
the sand is hot, the mosquitoes bite,
and the blue sea rolls up the hot sand
and back again.
The sun sets,
we put salve on our burns,
drink too much sangria
and try to sleep,
then we go back out
in the hot sun on the white sand
and watch the blue sea roll
and wish for something else.
There’s nothing here to speak of,
lots of old trees sighing in the breeze
full of birds making weird noises,
nothing to do all day
except watch the light change and the hawks fighting,
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