Burutu Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Across the seven seas bedecked with rust
Roistering home in ballast or in freight
With bunker coal to blush each stormy gust
The steamship yearns to meet its own and mate

Iron from the mine and under the hammer
Beaten and bolted, plates rivetted tight
Engine room furnace, pistons in clamour
The foghorn pimps for hookers tonight.

Back from Benin and a U-Boat encounter
Botched and patched in Freetown the while
She is limping in fog, swell and downpour,
Her middle-watch totting each Lime Street mile.

A deadly kiss, the dirty deal is done
She finds her match and the seabed's won.