Poem #2,722 | Port Authority

An almost off-wet fish presence
on our path headed west along
auld industry & harbour ways &
still rattled by fast light-flashing
trucks ‘tween tip-ups & collects
of long-docked gravel carriers &
rust pocked other world tugs at
rest between nudges & pulls [of
foreign port origin] – a breath in
that smacks of sump oil pools &
drip-drip-drip of failed gaskets –
no re-engineering kept on track
in re-fingered service books left
to flap on a dead car’s bonnet &
our steps up will remove us off –
surfacing above from dock road
& harbour paths beyond threats
stencilled thinly by a sign writer
who drew his payment by letter
left to dry – port authority word