Portrait of a Ship's Captain
Listen to: Portrait of a Ship's Captain There’s a strong breeze blowing from the west, Bringing salt air laden with the smells of fuel oil, Pollution and cooking across Victoria Harbour. I can see the barges rolling heavily beside the anchored ships, Their loads swinging wildly beneath the slewing derricks. I’ve dragged him from the bar in the seamen’s mission, And we're waiting for a launch back to the ship, He’s greeting evening strollers like long-lost friends, And banging on about me being a 'bloody farmer', I like him, he's a good seaman, but he's hard work. Now he’s sobering up, I can stand and watch him. He runs a hand over his shaven, close-cropped head, His bleary-eyes and face mottled by years of alcohol, Make his squat features look pig-ugly and brutish, His nose is as red as a ship's port side-light. He’s an old Asia hand, and once-vibrant coloured Blue and red dragon tattoos curl around his thick arms, With fading Chinese characters on his fore