This poem, originally written in 2004, as part of a short series about natural disasters, is submitted here in response to this week’s poetry rehab prompt https://wordpress.com/read/post/feed/31982590/851909184

 

 

 

Hymn to Neptune

 

The sea sucks at the edges of the earth

& we at it with our fish-hooks and nets.

*

Mother Nature responds better,

if you treat Her like a lady.

Even so, you still can’t be sure

She won’t throw

one of Her turns or moods

or a cup around from time to time.

Likewise Father Sea.

*

You can never quite tell when the Old Man

is going to whip his belt off,

(when He’s had a skin full)

&, (for no damned good reason)

treat you to the hiding of a lifetime.

Most of the time, He’s harmless, though.

Snoring & wheezing through his grizzled

waves of beard. His bad, tar-choked chest

going up and down

like a baby’s, flaked out on the sofa-bed.

Bored on the dole

or knackered by a hard day working for the Council.

That cough.

*

Sometimes He brings home battered fish for supper

on Friday nights,

oozing its grease through sheets

of last week’s Sun.

Diesel oil on His clothes.

&, generally, all goes well,

if you treat Him

to bottles of lite ale & with kid gloves.

*

Give or take the odd night or two

When He’s off his head.

Something to do with Mum.

Recife, 26 December 2004