S o m e T h o u g h t s i n C o b h
You could almost imagine
Titanic roped to the side of
This grey concrete pier, see the
Four funnels, the gloss of the paint
The pointy stern cut through
The still, deep waters mammoth-like
On its journey to the promised land.
Eerie too that we knew what
Waited for it at the other side
Wasn’t fan-fare but a wall of ice,
Death, its magnificence broken
In pieces of steel on the ocean’s floor.
Cobh saw her off like the
Immigrants during the Great Hunger
Hands waved and blew kisses
Yet knew, even then, she might never return.
First appeared in Chantarelle's Notebook, August 2005