When the boat pulls into Lecarrow Harbour
shadows fall on smaller craft.
The skipper, high on his fly bridge,
bow-thrusts his way to the quay wall.
Firm above him rises the mast
for VHF although he’s never
out of range with his mobile phone.
The overhead arch wears a dish
for radar, and radar reflector
in case he should meet
a ship on Lough Ree.
A Garmin GPS Chart Plotter flickers
to guide him along the banks
of the Shannon. Today
he has come all the way from his berth
at the south of the lake
an hour away if he takes it easy
which he doesn’t.
He disembarks with his crew
tip top in full Musto sailing gear
for stepping ashore on rainy days.
Later, after the poop-deck barbie,
he starts up the jenny
for watching the telly.
He’s an Offshore Member of the RNLI
although he never goes to sea
and only last week spent fifty grand
having snagged a rock in Blackbrink Bay
with a starboard propeller
designed to propel in the ocean.
So he tries to go slow when leaving Lecarrow
along the shallow narrow canal
but his boat, like those of developer friends
is built for speed, for going to France,
for zipping from Cork to Dublin Bay
and bad though I am to gloat and mock
I’m glad to see these mortgaged monsters
For Sale, For Sale,
Nicola Griffin has had poems published in The Sunday Tribune, The Stinging Fly, Crannog and Orbis among others.
Photo of Lecarrow Harbour copyright Nicola Griffin