R - Clouds on the Horizon

A black tug
poot poots
in her calm, treacle-dark waters
Its engine
churning a guzzle
of froth and bubbles
Its helmsman
a cloth-capped raven
with beak hard and grey as shale
pink, wet maw
and dwarfish puffins
for skivvies
They chitter and squabble
over mop and leaking bucket
Their eyelids sewn together
with gossamer
in tongueless kiss.

This black tug
with its sooty light
guides tankers and dreadnoughts
into her harbour
Their prows glisten
in the lamp light
Their onyx hulls drip.

She watches from the dock
On the horizon
Harbingers of a burgeoning storm.