LOCAL HAZARD (Cowes Week, 1969)

Posted by Admin on 31 March 2008, 12:00 am

Acres of Terylene, flapping and filling,
west of the mark-boat, awaiting the gun:
listing acutely, manoeuvring and milling,
timing precisely that last leeward run.

Sheets free the head-sails – they flutter and billow,
close to the shore where the ebb loses force:
wear away, Skipper! – there’s rock for a pillow,
sleek on the seabed, and dead in your course.

Water, more water! – he’s trying to turn her:
Neptune have mercy – that’s cut it too fine!
One-seven-one’s aground off the Grantham,
stuck while competitors speed for the line.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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