Embroidery of those blue hands
and scroll-wrapped scraps of oily chips.
A show of savoir-faire demands
the broken art of seaside trips.
The industry of those blue hands,
where trade and commerce yearly slips.
The rust and calm of the bandstand,
where underneath a frown-line dips.
And heavy-armed with those blue hands,
where ooze of foam can get to grips
canoodling with each yard of land,
where the impassioned water sips.
Moments along, near those blue hands,
the pistol-kiss of piston lips,
the shiver of newspaper stands,
a smoke-tarred tongue upon the tips.
And miles afar, from those blue hands,
delivering ships with shivering hips.
twelve yawns away from northern sands
he sits, an old sea dog, spits pips.
and scroll-wrapped scraps of oily chips.
A show of savoir-faire demands
the broken art of seaside trips.
The industry of those blue hands,
where trade and commerce yearly slips.
The rust and calm of the bandstand,
where underneath a frown-line dips.
And heavy-armed with those blue hands,
where ooze of foam can get to grips
canoodling with each yard of land,
where the impassioned water sips.
Moments along, near those blue hands,
the pistol-kiss of piston lips,
the shiver of newspaper stands,
a smoke-tarred tongue upon the tips.
And miles afar, from those blue hands,
delivering ships with shivering hips.
twelve yawns away from northern sands
he sits, an old sea dog, spits pips.