Dover Marine Station
They were wild Western Docks, where British rail-
ways quit the buffers and fleets of trekkers
queued up the peeling platforms. We’d wonder
why the virgin tourists couldn’t fathom
how the wrought-iron wreck was racked by breakers
at England’s end. There, anglers lost their lines
while everyone else thought of digging down
through clay and chalk.
One late day, I rolled
in from Belgium, dashed my duty free down
some railings and felt the break up, coming.