Welcome Back [ Customs House ]
Steve Coel
Standing in the doorway
to the closed Custom House
you silently mouth
a plea for small change.
It's not one of your
regular spots.
Not today.
Looking like you needs
another close shave
your shoes
seem broken
and too loose for comfort.
Busy down waterside.
You, are not.
Slowly...you are becoming invisible.
Eventually, you too will disappear
leaving only a shadow
in each doorway
of this street.
[ The shadow of a man...each day up from the Sally...into town...
in the doors of The Western and Echo. ]
Docks Museum
Steve Coel
Today.
Dry docks glisten
with salty channel rain
as woollen old men
sit on a favourite bench.
Each is smiling
as together they remember
their songs and laughter
as young, hard welders.
Today.
Visitors will glance at walls
of dismal grey photographs.
Some show weary men
and women waving small
half empty beer glasses in the air.
Others are of car empty streets
clogged with leather boots
being dragged to early shifts.
And some are of boys playing
scrappy football with tight balls
of Western and Echo
in muddy parks
bordered with adverts
for cheap beer and bread.
Tomorrow.
Young men grown old
will return, sit
will return, sit
and see it all again.
Departing visitors
will not see them.
will not see them.
heb deitl
Steve Coel
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
