Round The Bay’s Bend

Fishermen, they said they were
leaning against the bar
fat, with rum drinks
eyes on every girl who walked in.

Later after we all became friends
and everything but their money
was forgotten
we slapped each other

on the back as we helped them
stagger onto the deck.
Round the bay’s bend
everything turned ugly

the chop slipping against
itself, cutting the sea
into menace. Their angry leader

demanded they immediately
be put ashore. Impossible,
said our skipper, especially
given the conditions

but we all knew how much
easier we’d have it tossing
each one of the bastards
slit-throated over the side.



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