Coastal Path

Van Gogh cut his ear off
and Britney cut her hair
I’ll just walk this coastal path
and act like I don’t care.

I’ve packed some crusty sarnies,
a flask of Assam tea.
I’ll sit and have a picnic.
I won’t walk into the sea.

This coastal path reminds me
of how my life has been;
always trudging round the edges
but never plunging in.

I scream up to the seagulls
that wheel the sky above.
They don’t know what they’re seeing:
a fool lamenting foolish love.

Ha! Isn’t that a saying?
“Go tell it to the birds”?
Well, take my fucking picture.
It can speak my thousand words.

Meanwhile you play deaf-mute
somewhere beyond the sea;
your oceanic silence
which somehow calls to me.

Do I plunge in? Do I swim out?
Do you hear me? Do you care?
Or should I walk this coastal path?
I stop. I stand. I stare.

Yeah, Van Gogh cut his ear off.
His reasons are not clear.
Perhaps he wanted silence?
Me? I need to hear.