Ferry Town

 

A street of meagre terraces,

Clinging to the lough mouth

By destitute resolve.

Surviving cot and bothy

And the industry of brick clay.

Straddling the river,

Without bridge.

Without water.

One day they scattered the people

And their ways,

A hinterland in every wind.

‘They’re ferry people you know?’

A porous row monument left

To crumble through my childhood

And sink beneath the bungalows,

Peppering soggy points and quarters

From the Largy to Far Ballyscullion.

 

 

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5intheface   –   02/03/2013