Cold Turkey

One winter
I was sent to stay
with my grandpa
who played bowls
and my grandma
who didn't care.

An interloper
I was left alone
to wander
the cliff-tops
frowned upon
by towering pines.

Grey wavelets
slopped
against enigmatic rocks
and a fishing boat
dipped laboriously
in the swell.

I trod
the slippery boards
of a distended pier
as waves sprayed
slapping against
calloused piles.

Charcoal clouds
in the sky
moped
above me
melancholy
in their indifference.