Black Fish Poem by Sally Evans

He swung in through the unlocked door
into the winter colours of the house,
a small can of black fish on his arm,
a haddock and two patterned mackerel.
Payment, including the gossip,
next week's whisky. When he had gone,
we sizzled them under the grill,
steamed parsnip and broccoli, tuned the radio,
partook of the sea's poached harvest
where our shared candles guttered
high above the sea's thin shoals.

from The Great North Road 2007