The far end of the beach

Gulls,
White and grey,
Huddle by waves;
Clustered like cockleshells,
At the far end of the beach.

No-one else will come here:
Too many rocks, too many weeds,
And the stagnant smell of run-off.

I, too,
Am a niche dweller,
End-of-beach dweller,
Huddled where no one else will go.

Waves
Pound down
The shores of my heart.
Wind
Lifts and ruffles
The strands of my hair.

Sensing the squall,
We turn,
I and the gulls,
Bracing our backs
For the sea-change.