The lifeboat man and his ex


Sometimes, after all these years, I visit you. In the Sloop I asked you to watch me carry out my latest rescue. You looked well, dressed to have dinner with Catrin Finch.


But you came anyway. Me in my canary yellow oilskins you with your red glossed lips, we walked the cliff path.


It happened to be a false alarm I remained to watch the sea. No bobbing heads. No arms waving.


Blood and Salt


Last night’s force five has left Solva’s fishermen shipping extra hours in their beds, but not Mikey, and me the pensioned apprentice, boarding Helen C.


The diesel beast is defibrillated back to life (he told me to stand clear), the monster coughs, clears its black lungs, roars at the breaking dawn settles into a steady fuck-fuck-fuck...


Moorings slipped into the harbour slick we turn out to the storm’s back yard ruckus nearly done, tin cans kicked over the sea runs this way and that, cross as a crossed lover.


5


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