How to Approach the Pier

posted in: Poetry

With a bowline tied to your monkey-fist,

with your heaving-rope coiled sun-wise,

bow to Faray, engine in reverse.


With your stern door lined up to the ramp,

the quarry to starboard, slumped

where the stones for the pier were hacked free.


With outlines of Wideford and Keelylang

papered on the skyline. The tide running high

and the wind southerly.


With trails of foam in your wake,

Geldibust to port. With the stanchions easy,

hung with tyres.


With a route pressed to your palm,

in your pouch, the honed spoon

and that knapped flint from Howar.