.newlyn.

as i read

the herring fleet

words of fish

remember

newlyn days

fried egg breakfasts hard

friday, same as last week,

and all has changed

but not changed,

just the words are different

driving home i could not see

for dark and names,

yet i saw the power house.

i have the small boy

trousers to mend

and dry by the fire

and feel slightly

peculiar.