Boot Sole

It stood so tall yesterday,

a small kingdom built

with plastic spade and patience,

turrets carved, shell flags set.

I saw the child’s fierce pride,

the careful drip of water

making walls hold tight.

This morning, the tide hadn't claimed it.

Just a flat, wet patch of sand

where the keep had been,

a clear, deep imprint

of a work boot, size ten or eleven,

the tread distinct,

the arch pressing down

where the main tower had gone.

No swash, no waves,

just one deliberate step.

Something in me still feels the crunch.