Ships at bay
meander in joyful play
awaiting the crunch of boots
thump-thumping across
these docks
awaiting the stench of
fish-catch
bread to feed his babies
to say, screw the UIC
don't want pogey no more
just fishing, that's my
style
my granddaddy and poppa before
me and now my turn.
The Narrows protect the boat-fleet
of all sizes, tethered as goats
swaying with the swells
waiting for the fishermen.
And the babies and the wives
hope today's catch is gosh darn good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
waiting for the fishermen, I like it. thanks.