ii. the marooned | 1947

ii. the marooned | 1947

I hear the echoes of tides brushing against their lovers // in a dock of new dawns they’re now calling home // Avonmouth // As a twin of mine did its final venture out of this land, they conjured up thoughts of how to ethically slaughter us // Scrap us // Burn us // Drown us

The gulls creak overhead // The sails whistle lazily, hungry for bed // The sailors sing from down the road, a different melody from usual // A heavy lament // I lie dormant in this dry dock // thinking of that which hums in the wind.