Poem of the week

splintering across the wooden deck,

and the leather-jerkined crew

left steaming guns,

forgetting the French,

and sun winked at sea

as Henry stood, on the beach

watched men line up, starboard side,

and under their weight the boat bowed too,

slowly at first,

then keeled

as ocean invaded open gun ports

chased across lower decks, tore

cannons from chains,

then sailors jumped into waves,

fast as bathers at a holiday park

despite the watching king,

until only a slim black mast

was above water

tilted shoreward,

still obeying the order to salute.

Mary Charman Smith