Sounds like friday morning

Stop a nudge past Blackfriars Bridge

walking west, then lean on the river wall, perhaps

below a cast-iron dolphin lamp (or sturgeon if the mood’s pedantic)

Because there within city cries and a whirr of cranes

lives a noise that is no echo,

an old old sound remixed,

with a later electric hum n’ throb:

the slapped plash of wave on foreshore

here a plastic sandy, shingled blitz-rubble clay wood confection,

where common gulls and herring gulls, maybe even Icelanders,

choke and cackle and mew, keowing and yeowing

While mid-stream cormorants crew a shit-spattered barge,

anchored to the Thames, expectant

.

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2 thoughts on “Sounds like friday morning

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