These are the colours
Of discarded oil drums
We’d find them
Around the harbour
Or even in the woods
Before anyone worried
About the environment
We’d peer into them
The smell returns
And the burning sun
On our backs.
These are the colours
Of condemned ships
Tankers, tugs
Ferry and pilot boats
That will never
Sail again
Never feel the comforting
Cool caress
Of fresh paint
Or the blast
Of an open sea.
David Subacchi
David Subacchi was born in Wales (UK) of Italian roots and studied at the
University of Liverpool. David has 4 published collections of his English
Language poetry and one in Welsh. His work has appeared in many literary
magazines and anthologies worldwide.
Tags:
Poetry