When I was a kid, my family would often go on holiday to a little beach town called Eastbourne. I remember the windswept beaches and the amusement arcades and the fish and chip shops and the seagulls and having a huge amount of fun there. This poem is inspired by one of those holidays. "Eastbourne." "Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne Beach "as the orange-pink of sunset "plays with the ebbing tide, "my mother asks, 'What do you want to do when you're older?' "There is every colour of pebble beneath my feet, "grey lumps of flint winking their sharp, shining cores, "gritty ovals of sandstone pregnant with fossils, "worn amulets of glass of every sparkle. "They crunch and shift under synced steps "as we stroll, towels wrapped around sand-dusted bodies. "The sea sings with the pebbles, knocking a tone from each, "forming a hushing melody. "Sunbursts dip into the wispy clouds, "bounce from the greens, "blacks and purples of the rock pools, "shine red and gold and white from the sea. "There is every colour in the sun. "My baby sister toddles alongside my grandmother, "the years between them "like the ghosts of waves already ebbed, "and the years to come like the promise of tides, "as their silhouettes whisper in the sunshine. "'What do I want to be when I'm older?' "The question bounces around my head "like light and wind and water and time, "and I smile. "I don't know.".