M In the time between when he dropped it E and when the sticky, sickly sweet and sour L pineapple flavour and overly-yellow coloured T ice had melted into the hot sand I we had already packed up our towels N and sun cream and empty cool-box G and taken a deep breath of the stifling air,
M ready for the battle of gathering up E a child who cannot understand L that something can be gone, T like my patience as the red faces E scowl and judge the woman with D the screaming, crying child,
G the faces who have forgotten O that accepting things have gone without N a fight is not something we are born with E or should want.
Bethan Hay (she/her) lives an island life in Orkney. She writes around her young children and work as a Home Carer. You can find her, and details of her publications, on Twitter @bethanhay_.