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Poetry

That Pub in Cuxhaven

The woman awaited my German.
I managed a coffee, with milk, please,
And sat while it brewed,
Amusing myself with the décor.

It was almost an English Pub parody
Nets draped on the ceiling,
Sea charts all over the walls,
Fish paraphernalia lurking
On wall-to-wall shelving,
And fish on the menu of course.

The establishment’s pièce de resistance
Stood, absurd, in a corner,
Both in and out of its element.
An old diver’s outfit, dead upright,
Like a strange suit of armour,
With a similar unsettling presence.

I sat, eavesdropping the German
Of the other pub customers talking,
Comparing their fruits de mer,
While my stomach translated the coffee.

I paid for my drink and departed;
I passed by the diver,
Brushed by his arm with my camera;
I was sure I could hear something singing,
From the space deep inside him,
Shantying, still, for the sea.

Bare Nibs

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Poetry

That Pub in Cuxhaven