The once remarkably calm waters of the dock
Are chopping higher than even the North Sea
Must be on such a blusterous day. Fabricated waves
Are smashing into the breakwaters of the walls with
Such a force as to send their spray into my face
As I delicately inch over the lock gate bridge.
Landed on Bond Island side I wind my way
Around warehouses, trying to stay between the
Lines set down for my protection, regardless of
The fact the buildings are likely to shed slate leaves
Upon my head. And rounding a corner the
Gale taunts me to tempt the crossing again;
Which I will have to do in setting back for
Second coats on nursery walls, but the closest
Lamp post is now signaling the wind’s impatience
By swinging from side to side like a fair ground
Ride and frightening me just a touch as the
Structure holding the Ouse back is so exposed.
And all the red and yellow flowers marking
The boundary of this year’s particularly keen
Spring must be wondering if they should forget
More growth until the start of British Summer
Time, but I guess we’ll have to face
The prevailing winds together until then.
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