Firth of Clyde

Broad estuary
Flowing coal black
Flecked with the streetlight
Lines of amber combed out by the current
Moving
Yet standing still

The Clyde is running clean now
Rich in all manner of living things
Yet somehow
Sterile

The fresh paint
On a mothballed dockyard crane
Is masking memories
Of an age of smoke and steam
Now gone

No more slap of paddles
Or thump of ships moving in the night
No more bulging holds
Of empire plunder
No more sugar, no more spice

A thousand ships have carried off the morning tide
Past Bute and beyond the Cumbraes
Beckoned on by Paddies Milestone
Now drowned by Sirens on some distant shore

Just flotsam
Of this mighty River

Chris Goan

20.12.06