THE DRENCHING ARMS

PART TWO: NEW YEAR'S EVE

A museum of yesterday’s rainbows,

guarding the memories of car lights by night.

How the tide of the whole world is changing,

even in this corner, where a tired wind

rattles a battered pub door and only

I glance up to see if some ghosts arrive,

blown in past the broken-down wind turbines

now sheltering seagulls and my people.

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So writes Raven, spending his New Year’s Eve

adrift in the emptying Drenching Arms.

The pub karaoke bursts into life

and a recent boat refugee belts out

I will survive by Gloria Gaynor,

cheered by a pensioner dressed as Hitler.

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See The Drenching Arms: Part One