The pier is having a panic attack
The sea is rearing up like a juggernaut
A hooded cameraman, eyes scrunched behind wet lenses
Films a string of flags near torn from their sockets
A woman anchors her husband with a hug
The sky's stripped clean of gulls
Storm watchers totter about like skittles
The storm's like a warship cracking whelks
It has put paid to candyfloss, postcard venders,
The sun's a blearie cataract
The wind screams like a banshee
Clouds are snagged on lampposts
Whip-lash sand tattoos the faces
Of yobbos taking selfies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem