Quite the bold buccaneer

In his swaggering hat,
Thrimblenorton navigates forgotten seas
Where derelicts drift
Buoyed up on weed
Or else he’s lashed to the wheel
As waves curving claws
Slash down from topmast
To keel or making safe anchorage
To hack-wade his way
Through some Midnight-forest
Brimming with decay,

Only to wake at sunset
In some doorless shed,
Hear the rain sink
To a simmering drizzle
That dies
As his back bends concave
Like an overloaded bridge,
He yawns, sneezes,
Goosesteps three paces forward,
Hunger driven vaults a garden fence:
Ears up nostrils wide whisker tips tingling
He senses movement,
Falls back on his haunches,
Yawls, teeth bared
Slams down one paw
In a spine snapping crack
And having tasted hot blood,
He’s fully re-charged
And ready for love…




Kevin Patrick McCann
Photo Nick Victor

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