Julian Flanagan
Susan On The Wharf
The wharf was on tidal, Hammersmith Thames.
Susan sold ‘confectionery’ in Harrods:
It stored cardboard skins creased for boxing,
brazil nuts in toe-caps of Bourneville;
clean palettes stacked like plates,
almonds smoking in cocoa;
black machines to heat our night shift.
a marshmallow crease around her wrist.
We smoked behind tarred tanks,
She’d tip in one extra,
our safety boots on a low wall,
sumersault the plump bag shut,
our eyes on the Harrods Depository,
and look up, eyes primed with liquorice kohl
its small domes, union flags.
and mascara crowns of thorn.
Page(s) 83
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