Poem: 'Decline Of The Hull Fishing Industry'

DECLINE OF THE 

HULL FISHING INDUSTRY 

 (SEEN AS A NIGHT 

OUT WITH MIRIAM) 

Miriam beheaded cod,
fishscale beaded.
Claimed engagement to a man
trawler-bound off Iceland,
but she’d forget –
for a while, if
I would understand

Her knife disembowelling
head to tail, turning
innards, bloodless, pale,
their stink remaining

We met at a party,
she laughed easily and
did most of the talking.
I bought her drinks and
drove her home in a
battered white Transit van
– past the dock-fronts,
cranes black against blackness,
and terraced houses in
reticulated rows, streetlamp paced
– imagining those delicate fingers
dextrously tossing corpses
into ice, gleaming dead
fish eyes coming adrift.
We made vague plans but
I was a little too drunk
and she had me park
a street away
to allay Icelandic guilt,
but every time the wind
comes in from the east
redolent of fish
I catch Miriam laughing,
beaded with cod-eyes and scales

And now the trawlers rust
and the docks silt
and I still see
those fingers

Published in:
‘MINOTAUR no.5’ (USA - October 1981)
‘BRADFORD POETRY QUARTERLY no.5’ (UK - Aug 1986)
‘RUSTIC RUB no.2’ (July 1994 - UK)
‘CHOKING ON HONEY no.1: formerly ‘I SEE EMERALDS’ (March 1999 - UK)
‘THE PENNILESS PRESS no.18’ (Nov 2003 – UK)
and the collection:
‘POWER LINES’ Unibird Publications (Oct 1988 - UK)