On a shore the sea bounces on rocks-
there lies a pub called ‘Aqua’.
Huge glass windows enclose the top floor,
display a beach stretched to miles afar.
The yachts sway lazily in a harbour
as seagulls come kissing the window where I sit.
They wait in mid-air, feathers flutter,
momentarily suspended by the gushing wind.
It’s late eve, crowd flows into Aqua bar
for the sun shines and the barrels roll.
Time ticks but I don’t realize the hour,
and a sail sets for a leisurely stroll.
The seagulls turn, rev, dive into the sea,
while a cold, dark Guinness beer soaks me.