Wexford summers. Cousins. Some removed, others should be.
A bruising stick-and-ball game settles scores.
Red Lemonade, 99s, ice-cream wafers, crisps and slap-up feeds.
Ravenous teams jostle, devouring gritty ham or salmon paste sandwiches. Each liberally seasoned with sharp, salty, silica.
At day’s end, sunburnt cousins dream, war-painted with Calamine lotion.
Steven is still picking sand granules from between his teeth years after the long hot summers of childhood holidays spent visiting family in Ireland.
