TJ (17th June 1958 / England)


Not caring for cover of darkness,
She ran,
Naked as the day she was born;
As if she heeded
Of convention,
For protection;
Threaded her way
Between the knots of courting couples
And the solitary strollers,
Between the push-bikes
And the rollerbladers,
All strutting their respective stuffs with style
Along the prom.

She turned heads –
How could she not,
As she sauntered and slinked
Her hips down the steps
To the sand,
Her body language subtly changing,
To the soft feel under heel
As she made for
The water’s edge,
Head thrown back,
Hair streaming in the breeze,
Breathing in the ozone
As if it were her own personal Ambrosia.

She paddled her way away along the shore
Until her dot merged
With the monochrome of dusk
And we could make her out no more.

We were all thinking it:


Brazen vixen.

PS. Yes.... she really was a fox..... what WERE you thinking!

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