Kerri Shying R # 333 - Primed Linen

Primed linen

the fading of ship engines  doesn’t come

they rise and fall   all night against the bullies

of the daylight rush hour   on the drive in

the Hornets   in formation raking back

to base  imaginary bombs  fall

 we wince inside our houses    in the gardens

 look round make sure that no-one saw

clangs at all hours  cease to make you jump

the hum beneath the shipping   ever

ready for the off     the seamen onshore    I saw them

in Market Town Coles buying lettuces

in threes and fours

they hit the brothels in the same formation

where language mates  are waiting   this is the

orderly stoker   this is the twenty first century

Phlebas the Phoenecian has on dark drill pants

and a high vis shirt    

there is still the same sea

beyond the heads

our hum belongs to him I wonder

are we audible from afar    is this a ship of the desert

that place where you hear each vehicle

as it comes at you

a tunnel of sonic power approaching 

 long before sight

 there is a moment of confusion  when you

 look in fear

 straight up