Poem in Progress: ‘THE HARBOUR SLEEPS THESE SHORES’

A recent draft of a new poem I’ve been working at. Enjoy.

 

THE HARBOUR SLEEPS THESE SHORES

 

This late, wet winter’s near dusk, from

the Dartmouth side of the harbour, the bridge

is not some cocktail party’s belched boast,

is not gin-fuelled and all red-cheeked and

breathless.          No, it is instead that sly killing

bit of mid-day office gossip. A near-rote

second cup of what’s barely-morning-anymore’s

insinuation; one that everyone’s sure they’ve heard

(Once more! Oh, tell me anyway!), but no one

can quite articulate or source.

          You know: if eyes had tips like tongues,

it could lie right there, the bridge.          Lie

on, it might.          Or so they’d have us believe.

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