Quiet
night on the river
Waves
lapping, slapping gently
Against
the side of the boat
Grinding
oars the only sound
Creaking,
squeaking
Milky
mist floats above the surface,
Curls
and swirls around.
Lamp
held aloft
To
light the ferryman’s way
Glimmering
through the gloom
Catching
pale reflections
From
the ripples, then a sudden cry,
Shattering
the calm.
Something
in the water,
Floating,
face-down, a body,
Marks,
scars and muddy streaks
Naked,
white, gleaming flesh
Turned
by the boat-hook,
What’s
left of a man,
Face
half-eaten, far from fresh.
Nibbled
and gnawed
By
river creatures
Fish
and frogs, river rats.
Dumped
somewhere upstream
For
someone else to find.
Hauled
aboard with grudging effort,
Dirt-smeared,
stinking, putrid,
A
rotten fish to catch
Bruises
on the buttocks,
Scratches,
bloody wounds,
Tattered
torso,
Tattoos
and piercings
A
victim easy to identify
By
those who do such work.
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment