Matthew Henry John Bartlett

We are on the sun and it is swimming and hot everywhere especially down the beach with hot feet walking on hot asphalt sand and sea girls, and minds go blanks with thoughts fried. The first day of Simon’s November and here is a month early summer maybe for a day or a week. Better a furtive glance or an underhand icecream, or slow-sleeping starfish hard to see without standing very still, or a crab in the swim, still colder than it looks, as big as a two close-fingered hands swims like it walks sideways.