Two Poems by Paul Bavister

Campsite The campsite sloped down to the beach, and every morning I ran between the tents, then jumped into the freezing sea. I hadn’t been told it was only a holiday, that we’d be back in a week. I sat on a scorching grey rock, looked out to sea, forgot the fear of being beaten at school, then smelled smoke and turned to a line of fire ripping through the gorse. Weasels, lizards, snakes and mice…