Beneath my weight, the duckboards bow.
Two buckets, slopping water, weigh me down.
A cold wind howls around the cages now,
While rain sweeps in – across the town –
Again; and while our rheumy-eyed,
Arthritic monsters fall asleep
I kneel beside
The Songstress of The Deep
All afternoon, the punters pass
Her tank in single file; because it’s dark
Inside, they press their faces to the glass.
I breathe, at night, on every mark.
Behind my cloth, the water churns
And curls around our fat dugong
And when it clears
(Like smoke) she turns
Away, and any song
Is ‘just the wind’ or ‘my mistake’
Outside, discarded handbills catch their wings
On tents or in the mud while, in their wake,
Paper cups, tickets stubs and things
The rain dismantles every night
Turn cart-wheels in the foreign air
Before they throng
The sky, too light
To settle anywhere