Fish Wife
More Grimsby stuff. Not sure why Grimsby is holding a sudden fascination, but you go where the inspiration is, I guess.
FISH WIFE
He climbs from the deck
past reeking holds,
the choke of ammonia
and week old sweat
making him gack.
I see the skin on his palms
and fingers – torn and raw.
Capillaries broken,
in his fleshy cod cheeks,
from sub-arctic cold
and an over abundance
of rum.
He sees the note in hasty,
thready ink that condemns
the town and two
thousand boats.
He shudders,
shoulders jumping,
and I know he wishes
he’d listened at school.
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