Jean-Paul Sartre on Pettycur Beach
All that summer I was Mathieu Delarue
Walking the streets of Kinghorn like the streets of Paris,
Solitary, re-inforcing the common view
Among the local girls that I was up my arse.
Reading Jean-Paul Sartre on Pettycur Beach
My childhood home felt no longer mine
But another home seemed out of reach
In a different language, a different time.
The sunlight dazzling on the Firth of Forth
Lobster boats moored to the harbour wall,
Mothers gossiping on a picnic cloth:
Everyday things I didn’t get at all.
All that summer one thing was clear:
The roads to freedom lead away from here.
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