In Cornwall, from the shelter of your bungalow
You found the sea ‘compassionate’
And then ‘monotonous’,
Though never, in all fairness,
‘Inconnue’. There was no hiding it.
Your poems wouldn’t do.
We sat on for another hour or two,
Old literary pals,
You chewing on your J&B
And me with your dud manuscripts
Faced downward on my knee.
‘It’s been a long time,’ you said,
‘I’ll race you to the sea.’
from Ian Hamilton: Collected Poems (2012) (Kindle Edition)