the fish paste faces of a forgotten place

[Raincoat]

the fish paste faces of a forgotten place

her thong
poked up like an upturned anchor
on her pasty white rump
if she clung
she clung to a clay pot
and certainly the curve of her body was a curlew beak

flat on the pavement a fluted man
with bewick complexion
was if anything
star gazing
except it was midday
and the stars were soberly hidden

more stumbled blindly from the pub
like seasick fishermen
with no trace
of balance