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