Eastbourne in May We entered Eastbourne, a night-life free zone, where the benches were splintered and the beaches were stone. Residents with walkers bent toward the sea, like windswept boulders. grey fog in grey hair, a sprig here or there, defiant, yet indefinite, like England in May-- grey by night, grey by day. Times past, this town passed for a resort. Its time’s passed. Now May’s taken south in tropical climes where tanned bodies glow warm in the shadows of fruit trees and window curtains never close.
Paul Jones’ poetry has been published in Poetry, Red Fez, Prime Number, 2River View, and in anthologies including Best American Erotic Poems (1800 – Present). Recently, he was nominated for two Pushcart Prizes and two Best of the Web Awards. His chapbook is What the Welsh and Chinese Have in Common. A manuscript of his poems crashed on the moon’s surface April 11, 2019.
Grand Little Things 
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