Sea Gusted Tamarisk Poem by Mark Heathcote

As if their dignity was, bruised
observe these people in cities shuffling;
indignant looks, eyelids flashing, batting
gait like ducklings, waddling, much confused.

Why do they curtsy so in high wind?
Squint, scrunch their faces, why frown so in the rain
arms, legs together bedraggled over a flood plain.
Stand straight. Don't bend like sea-gusted Tamarisk.

Raindrops-aren't-grenades don't lose your heads-
while country folk doesn't bother to bend their neck
city types look like they're on a ship's quarterdeck
it's only rain; people-it's-not-raining arrowheads.