Landing Mackerel on the Pier Head at Portmagee

A feathered five from fathoms deep
distills a shower of broken pearls
Burnished silver-blue fish
Breathless, sunlit. Flop and curl
Give counted out a buyer's dozen
Fresh salted from a brief affray
Drawn by hand and hook
to mouth a searing oratory

From a barbed baptism. Baskets lie
gutted and gulled. Market ready
Heaped and held down by the quay
In hundreds, priced, marked and iced
Glass eyes fixed. Like a thousand
Stars reflected from an ancient sea
Supplicants for salvation
Shoaling towards eternity

This anchorage is still
Firm-footed in the bright wave's harvest
Ripples from remembered storms
stirring ghosts in long departed boats
Simon-Peter's, Andrew's. The Sons of Zebedee
Brendan in his leather tub, sailing
the soft swell of the sea
Tidal. Insistent litany

Please support my writing by tipping me on CashApp

https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/theanvilearth/