Fishwives

Fishwives In junkets to the golden shore Beside the cobalt sea of lore Was told of dwellings and rapscallions Of ramshackled wood and galleons. Where ancient mariners and the breeze Sailed upon the unknown seas, Where wives and fish, in nets, were caught, And the spoils of labour sold and bought, And 'neath the starry skies would sing Of trawlers and the nets they'd fling, Starboard bow and guillemot peck The flapping herring upon oily deck. Where wives and fish, of griddle and broth Spit and cuss in their beery froth, And carving ships in dry whalebone The men, of gods and serpents, moan. By dark, by habit, by candle lit Gather in separate huddles, sit, Weary lines upon a salty thread Weave and knot their minds to bed. To dream of junkets to a golden shore Where told of dwellings that are no more, Where supper served in a driftwood dish Would taste as sweet as wives and fish.