For four days in August
to this place of novelty haircuts
and Surrealist sandcastles.
In weather that once spelt
Socialist Summer Camp
you watch a lone goose
move high across the water;
imagine the wetsuits, plopping
one by one from a distant rock,
are a cult come here
to commit mass suicide. Kilkee,
host town to Uzbekistan.
A B&B run by a guy you’re sure
is ex-Romanian army.
The Gold Sea Chinese Takeaway.
Fry-ups all day
until three. You could do this:

whittle yourself a pipe
from a piece of driftwood,
spend the wide autumn evenings
smoking it;
let the terrorists in the television
take over the airports;
just witter away about how
the man with the metal detector,
who prowls the beach each afternoon,
is defi nitely working for Them.