snap - Mousehole*
Foreground: an old black cat with dusty fur,
low-crouched behind a dustbin, is biting
a lump of fatty gristle, surveilled by
a cautious seagull standing on one leg;
and, then, the harbour water, gated calm;
and, then, the harbour walls, ten foot high, more,
stretching across a mere five inches card.
Beneath them: a clean and well-brushed dog, propped
pissing on a small capstan, keen to be done
and catching up; a gang in middle age
making a noisy gestural havoc -
though one's apart - bright red hair, large boots, grin -
each clothed in artificial fabric, arse
on to granite, back against port furniture;
someone parking their car; a man hefting
a lobster pot
and above the walls' line
glittering fragments of an enormous hidden wave,
separating, coming down upon them.
The cat and gull shall retain their dignity.
For them, the day continues as it must.
*just in case, to save anyone going off at a tangent - this is the fishing village on the S.W. coast of Cornwall, really called Mousehole, pronounced without any attempt to disguise its meaning _Mowzel_, stress on the first syllable - itself rather unCornish. Kernewek
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