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?
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Will Vigar 
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