This has been written for the Ice Prince arts festival – marking one year since Worthing’s wood invasion, due to the discharged cargo out at sea
You can’t see
You can’t see the beach for the wood
For the wood has become forest
Planks stretched aloft
Like the yearning arms of the crowd at the 100 Club
In 76, wanting to catch the salt drops of rebellion
Before they become the dried sweat of the ordinary
Pale pine fingers crossed
In hope of rescue
‘MAN THE LIFEBOATS
And suddenly arriving
An angular invasion force
A splinter group that doesn’t mind being split
Or savaged with steel teeth. Or screwed. Or nailed.
Elvis would have liked our beach.
It once had a wooden heart.