Tallinn

Tallinn by Neil McCall

The nuclear sub’s now an Irish pub
and the Soviet concrete’s crumbling;
there’s an internet shop by the trolleybus stop
and the Finnish commuters are grumbling,
for the ferry’s run late ‘cos the Baltic’s in spate
as the wind cuts a crease down the awning
and apostles in red-candled nooks looking out
to St. Petersburg
issue a warning.

The stag party pissheads have flown back to Stansted
their bags crammed with bottles of spirits
whilst entrepreneurs venture out in warm furs
to take this new world on its merits
and a torrent of sleet numbs you down to your feet
in the twilit Estonian morning
and apostles in red-candled nooks looking out
to St. Petersburg
issue a warning.