Jo Hemmant
Ferried
The mouth yawns as we crawl
up ramps like tongues,
following staccato signals
from men in jumpsuits.
The half-dark stinks of fumes but
there’s no turning back now,
we’re onboard, nose to tail.
I think of fish, they’re designed
for water, finned and gilled.
This metal beast weighs thousands of tons,
three hundred cars tucked in its belly like eggs.
Remind me how it floats,
the pitch and tilt is unnerving.
On the upper deck,
they’re serving drinks, snacks,
showing films on tiny screens.
Seagulls’ cries caesuras,
we drift out of port into shades of grey,
a horizon that never shifts.
People take in the sea air, swaying
like ninepins that have held their ground.
Arrival time comes and goes.
Tannoys silent, we power towards that
empty fixed point, trailing a flume.
Page(s) 31
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