A poem from Cornwall

I wrote this poem in the summer of 2011 when I had a holiday in Cornwall. Since I have some really good friends there now I thought I'd share it. Enjoy.

The Two Fishermen

They stand and talk

I imagine they’d stink of smoke and whisky and fish

If you got close enough.

Their skin is rough and deep russet red in colour.

I imagine their hands holding wives and daughters hands

Both parties knowing that fish lie better there.

One smokes and gulps down some lager

From a plastic cup;

He imagines it stronger.

The smaller one is dressed in beige,

He scratches his white beard

And readjusts his fisherman’s cap;

I imagine his sister picking it out for him, a well-loved Christmas present.

The men talk fast, using slang,

I imagine for a moment that I can understand them.

I am close to home but everything’s so foreign;

These are different farmers to the ones I know, farmers of the sea.

They stand and talk

I imagine their life stories and write poems about them

They’re human, but they’re art too.

The two fishermen are strangers but I feel as if I know them;

Feel as if I have a right to analyse them.

We all judge and analyse and people-watch,

Only a few write it down, others go about their lives and read it.

The two sea-farmers stand and talk

I imagine they would smell of whisky and fish and smoke;

I can imagine, but I do not know.