Fish Wife


More Grimsby stuff.  not sure why Grimsby is holding a sudden fascination, but you go where the inspiration is, I guess.




He climbs from the deck

past reeking holds,

the choke of ammonia

and week old sweat

making him gack.


I see the skin on his palms

and fingers – torn and raw.

Capillaries broken,

in his fleshy cod cheeks,

from sub-arctic cold

and an over abundance

of rum.


He sees the note in hasty,

thready ink that condemns

the town and two

thousand boats.


He shudders,

shoulders jumping,

and I know he wishes

he’d listened at school.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s