Maritime sketches

each turn,
red fishing boat
moored to dock

hazy mist of ponds
tall grasses, lupins lambent
by the roadside

scent of coffee in our car,
early morning drives
wet by the dawn,
colouring windows

smell of cows and sheep
rolling into B&Bs or supermarts,
day’s long road
wrapped up in bibs
St. Margaret’s Church
basement lobster supper

and sounds of ceilidhs
in our ears,
wail of bagpipes
fiddle’s last bow

This poem was originally published in Verse Afire, Vol. 1, 2016