Hallsands (Plymouth)

In The London we’d talk

of the Skerries, the herring

and lobster, the Channel

bluster stealing Ma Jones’

dizzy bells from the line –  

and other important fripperies

best forgotten by gin and ale.

While the capital sealed our fate,

unknowing, uncomprehending,

unwilling to see another view

– bullying and blindsiding

with misplaced patriotism.

Their steel miscreants roamed

the shoals spitting smoke

and oil – swallowing the cornerstones.

And when the storm and tides

peeled us from the cliff – fresh mica

scar beneath shocked chapel,

trying to reconcile the parable

of house and foundation –

we wondered how we let the shingles shore

the ships in Keyham, with tender concrete

embrace, when tiny coins, verdigrised

with the salt left by littoral removal,

could not support the town?