Where most roads slide along their fronts,
this one headbutts the beach, end on.
A South London boy in his custom car
crawls his woofers at full blast
some twenty yards, then turns around,
like a broken zip, undoing the crowds,
and doing them up in the same motion.
It’s a dead-end road. This is the ocean.
from ‘Not the Usual Grasses Singing‘ © Ros Barber 2005