Condor Ferry, Jersey- St. Malo Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Who says piracy’s dead?
The ferry is charging double, because it is packed
‘You are lucky to get a seat, ’ they say, quite shamelessly

School parties of giggling girls
Like hormonal flamingos
Mooch and pout and pose beside the portholes
All legs and spots and manes of Saxon hair

Sea mist sits on the waves
Like a cloudy broth, steamy and impenetrable

Two French Hells’ Angels
Encased in shiny leather
Visors open on their silver helmets
Stand like giant ants beside the bar
A pensioner loudly discusses his funeral arrangements

Resentment festers, ruins the ferry crossing
I want to shout from the poop deck
‘I’ve been fleeced.’
I want the operator to walk the plank