Too much was made of the danger of quicksand.
I was terrified, that summer in Rhyl, when my brothers
ran onto the beach where the signs were – I saw them
pulled under, drowned, while I watched. Helpless.
I cried. They didn’t encounter any quicksand, but
I was still afraid. Of building sites too – as if I’d ever
play on one. I was the kid who’d be taken out
of the hall when those films were shown. The kid
who had nightmares. The real dangers were
different, but I wasn’t to know. A hand held out
as if in friendship. Cruelty disguised as love. The
loss of love which is supposed to last forever.