Aftermath - Pierre Savage

This morning, rocks and seaweed lie
far beyond slipway, stout sea wall:
debris of storm, of driven tide,
wild-scattered-wide, haphazardly;
an obstacle, a slalom course
for passers-by, for motorists,
for even some unwary fool
who stops to watch bright-painted boats,
that sway like reckless fairground rides,
and waits, excited as a child,
a sixpence burning in his hand.

Pierre Savage