Yesterday down on Marloes Sands I found an open weave beach shoe, sensible design, good as new, my size – but only the one, in the whole length of strand…
24th July 2022
This man – if you ask, you don’t know him.
He lives on that beach and lives off that beach –
Says beach gives him almost everything.
And when he needs something beach doesn’t give, he makes swap:
Something from beach for something for him, both parties happy.
But, by the way, doesn’t like beach parties:
Driftwood fires, taking the timber and fuel of poor folk.
Odd shoes? Of course he wears them:
“Beach gives shoes, but never pairs –
Not even if you pray to your God a lot, so what point religion?”
People laugh; Odd Shoes couldn’t care:
Feet comfortable, good grip too;
And always more where came from.
We call him Odd Shoes; he himself, too:
“Best way to tell me out anywhere, because nobody else…”
He says, if ever find pair shoes washed in (not left),
“Day I quit, because more luck there than a life deserves…”
He pauses… “If right size.”
Done this a long time, good hunch grown for finding:
Where they put, wind and tide;
How they sort, waves and shape and slope of shore –
And what they leave behind, visitor people
Who don’t seem to care, some, for anything they bring.
Once, burnt stick on smooth rock,
He drew me visitor people, rich:
“Shark in office, sheep on beach!”
I asked, “So what animal, you?”
He sketched stocky pony: long fringe, hoof broad:
“Happy fellow, steady worker, never weather-afraid.”
Adding, as I think of the question, “Of course, an odd-shoes pony!”
You know, he even beach-finds those from time to time:
You could believe the fellow has the magic making metal float!
© Christopher Jessop 2022
