Storm Chaser – Philip Burton

 

A mere head height 
above the pat-a-cake 
of sea wall and water 
a pushchair girl and toddler. 
 
She sees a pattern,  
works out when to dash, 
pause, get a move on, 
dodging the killer waves. 
 
Not a ghost of a chance 
and yet she gauges it 
spot on; a car beckons. 
A shrug. They disappear. 
 
Daily on their little jaunt 
they walk and win, in calm, 
storm, health and plague. 
It’s fifty years ago today 
 
the tide got wise to them.