MR FARAGE AND THE TIDE

Mr. Farage looked at the coast and bawled,
through a BBC megaphone
sponsored by Gazprom, at the sea.

All this water, coming over here,
taking British shingle from British beaches!

Kelp coming up through the stone.
One high tide.
Mr. Farage plays Cnut
in his highchair, throwing all his rattles
at the oncoming flood 'til it turns
and hangs him dry.

A conference of molluscs applauds.
Crabs lick their claws and descend.

LOVE POEM BY BILL MANHIRE

If you asked me
to choose, I'd hesitate
some.

Love. Not there.
Unseen.
Being near

when your limbs bend
and soften
like sand under seawater.

I'll talk the ocean bed
to you. A tentacle that grips.
The abyss.