In late April 2015 and continuing for six weeks, the ferry to our island was unable to take cars and lorries due to the new work on the loading bridge at the mainland side. Foot passengers only were carried and so while waiting for one such passenger this came into my head.
There's no cars on the ferry, only bags in hand to go,
No vehicles anchored down, midst the sea's to and fro
The boat seems nearly empty, with passengers so few,
No late running drivers, locked outside the queue.
A brand new ship she's ready, to handle an island rush,
But instead she sails for walkers, those who will never see a crush.
The canteen is confused, a dozen eggs can now suffice,
The quiet lounge expanded, more numbers on a dice.
No cars on the ferry, I think it's for the best
They say it's only six weeks but can we have the rest.
I really can't complain, I don't understand the fuss
The only downside I can see, is the struggle for the bus.
YOU ARE READING
The Incomer
PoesíaA relaying of years amongst an island population seen through the eyes of an incomer, looking beyond our daily fears to find the people inside the house of cards we all live in. The story told in poems and short prose is featured on my weekly blog.
