One Morning In Kent

I woke up to seagulls and distant crashing,
The lapping waves against a tired seafront
Calling out to me, rising up and drawing back 
Like a forefinger begging me forward. 

The gulls, drifting lazily on morning sea-sprayed wind,
Beckoned. “Come, come,” their incessant demands
Echoing like ambulance sirens rushed past
Traffic-bound cars. Maybe I’ll follow one day.