From a few years back. Decided to give it another outing. When I was a kid, if I was awake, I’d hear Dad tune to the shipping forecast late at night. As an ex sailor he knew what and where the various ‘sea areas’ were, and on nights like the one below his normally smiling eyes would turn sombre and he’d slip into another world, knowing what the numbers meant.
If an inland storm was rocking our caravan, rain drumming on the roof, he’d hug me and Mum, glad he wasn‘t out there.
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Shipping Forecast
“Wind, Violent Storm 11 in sea area…”
Crackle, Hiss.
“Visibility nil…”
Crackle, Hiss.
But 'Cook-in-the-bag Cod
microwaved in minutes
surely can’t have any connection
with writhing decks,
frozen fingers,
ice-heavy superstructure
being hacked clear with
hand axes every few minutes
to avoid a lethal ‘roll-over’.
Red-eyed Men fighting to survive
in monster waves
they can’t even see coming.
Wind arriving in brutal ‘lumps’,
like a punch to the body.
Decks suddenly dropping away,
or slamming up against weary bones,
aching joints crying out
for a few minutes of stillness.
And somehow still working the trawl,
deep below the dark giants
which tower unseen above the deck
as the cod-end fills
and hawsers grow tight.
Soon they’ll be gutting fish,
razor sharp knives flickering
in gloved hands below decks,
out of the wind,
away from the salt lash,
but still struggling to stay upright
even with safety harnesses,
as other men mend the nets,
ready to shoot again.
“Wind, Violent Storm 11 in sea area…”
Crackle, Hiss.
“Visibility nil…”
Crackle, Hiss.
‘For safety… Pierce bag before cooking…’
===
Gyppo