A sky of lead clamped down with greasy clouds,
a shifting sea, a slow uneasy swell,
a wind that hums mad tunes among the shrouds,
the tow-sail’s sullen tug, the seagull’s yell;
stubborn, the winch clacks slowly, pawl by pawl,
the cable tightens, men crouch in the lee
and look for the promise of a bulging trawl.
The sky rips open like a rotten sail
and lightning leaps as fish do close to death,
each rope and shroud sings out its idiot wail.
Black seas pound her, choking every  breath.

She straggled home at dawn, a battered stray,
holds crammed with fish, her mainsail ripped away.