On Dawlish Beach

On my walk, I stumble over sharp
stones, sink into sand, then stoop
to set an injured beetle on the sea wall.

Up above, the train I ride on weekdays
hugs Dawlish beach, its yellow picnic
cloth spread out under the sky.

Startled by flapping wings, I jump
back as a seagull swoops to gobble
up the tasty morsel I left uncovered.

Often you wait all week for a metaphor,
then two turn up on the same day
like apple green country buses.