Northern District and Circle

Two circles
One bogside, one on the soggy side
They're trenches he says
Grass harbours
I try to feel something
Walking with my cousin
Christmas day in Ireland
A bright surfer waves
We stand on the wooden bridge
Estuary water washes barley fish all fresh
I wonder if salmon taste whisky
A dead sheep melts into the sand
Washed up washed in washed out washed away
Everything seems so charmless
Even Neanderthal Celtic bus stops
Waiting for the sea