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COASTAL TOWN
Slipping, grey rocks
A dull drawn bridge
Awakening waters that
Lap and swell against
The soft momentum
of Monday's fishing trawler
As it labours emptily seawards
A forty-eight year old womb
Where blinks a sleepy morning moon
Unfolding day, drizzle and grey
Lit pipes, smokey shouts
Yellow raincoats in a turquoise puddle
....salted fingerless gloves, fish 'n' chips
driftwood wharves and ruined oysters
Moving mud....dammed
By twisted butts and silver twist tops
Entangled in a line forgotten
Save for the nibbling crabs
Side-stepping toward it
Seagulls squabble
Over rotting fish heads
And scream through sea-spray
With a flash of silver wing. |
