I'm torn in two unequal parts by news
that one thousand seven hundred and seventy five lives
will be decimated by job cuts. In Portsmouth
shipbuilding will cease. Yet, can I grieve
that hands will not be put to beat hulls to carry
death machines to sand filled countries? It was not Bill
or Mark or Ged that gave diktats to the Middle East.
They just hit the metal where the man telled them.
These could be pleasure steamers
for all they care. The profits of their labours move
like dunes at night between the wealthy and the powerful.
It is sad. The harbour slimed with seaweed is silent save the smack
of waves against the concrete breakers where hammers once clanked.
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