The Germans In Ballyshannon Poem by Paul HADFIELD

They come in hundreds.'Clinker built! '. They watch,
Quay-rooted or cautious on wrack-smooth rock
A bright-bouyed boat, fast to the leeward limb
Of Inis Saimer.' Hier sind vir! ? '. The turbine's tail
Tugs at the warps. The river's mazy eulogy,
Of wind on tide, gaffs the reluctant boat:
.A wilder salmon, load at the poacher; s arm.

They see the distant irridescent breakers
Briefly transfigured in the barbs of sun
Cascading, , crashing, crumpling at the bar
Roll out and flatten, surge again, fall still...
The banks of western cloud stop dpwn the llight
The tenuous interface of sea and sky

With many rods, they arm themselvesv to conquer
Eels, while the tantalising trout
(Prey to the green cormorant or nighr hero
Craiking their progress with obscre delight)
Flaunting dark backs and mottled silver bellies
At the pedestrian craft of lure and fly.

And when the rain falls on their summer faces
They slip inside their 'Thatch' to take hot Bush
Eat late in houses where they will be guests
Fail to take photographs of Mungo's Mountain
Think to acquaint themselve of poachers' lore
Quote lengthy gobbets out of Allingham
Or quit the quay to set up home in Leitrim