A View of the Ferries
polished coal. Across the table
he is still talking. She gazes into the dark,
the harbour below. A street light keeps sparking
on and off. Under the lamp two teenagers
are entwined, absorbed in the discovery
of each other, their tongues exploring
the possibility that loneliness is at an end.
She looks away, into the swirl of the bar, his face.
Begins to taste the moment of his leaving.
They eat at last. The food is passable,
passes. Little remains to say. Under the table
their knees touch in an accidental intimacy.
The song of the ferry, deeper than hearing,
vibrates the floor, the optics, the mirrors,
calling him. She picks up the bottle,
dribbles the last drop into her glass. Ferries
are still coming in, going out, slow and stately,
among the darting pilot boats, enormous
metal slabs, ponderous, symmetrical,
moving into their allotted places without
effort, shining with squares of light.