He was a viking in his forties.
Tyne after tyne I said, don’t dogger me,
just don’t dogger me – but he fishered,
me a single parent with no german bite.
I came to like his humber,
and eventually thames towards him.
Dover and dover
we caught the white of each other’s lundy,
throwing all faroes into the fast net,
deep in our irish sea,
rockallin’ and dancin’ the malin.
Those were the hebrides years.
Until Cromarty.
How I wish Cromarty had not met my viking.
Still only forty, we tyned and doggered,
until my fisher ran out.
And he got his german bite all right,
humbering halfway up the Thames,
waves dover him,
his white in the dark lundy,
faroes swept from the fast net.
I have drunk the Irish Sea,
hearing him, calling through ships,
Rockall – Malin – CROMARTY!
Thanks Cromarty. I hope you sink,
someday.
JULIA DARLING