The carts haven’t come with their cargo
Just alone, slicing the crooked light beam,
collateral for an ascendent sun,
a rowboat ferries a tight-cloaked
passenger to the quay
Quiet waters are propitious for cod
That’s why we’re here
Further down, a few early-rising smokers gather
A vagrant approaches the water
to satisfy his need
Exhausted women strip off their heels
and cross the road home
Our eyes return to our bobbers
twittering in the bay
indecisive as to which ripple to follow
a flash—and it’s lunch
We’ll stay till the barges arrive,
then stop by the tavern
Andy Oram
April 19, 2020