A November afternoon.
Past the Beehive the canal path is empty.
Dogs have gone home, cyclists too;
just the lapping of water on a necklace
of narrowboats strung out along the bank,
blue, brown, red and dirty white.
“No fishing beyond this point”,
only a few new-season moorhens and a
complaining mallard mewking for his mate.
“No mooring over 48 hours” but ducks can’t read.
Past the seat that commemorates the ‘Union
of Bill and Lyra in 2003 on the narrowboat
Independent’ and my curiosity allows a
sideways glance into the boat from which smoke
issues, in the hope that they are still united.
Dog walking, nesting, cycling, making love,
cooking supper allowed – but no fishing.
Iris, Mercury, Blue Boar, Romany,
Tangleweed and Eve light candles, stoke
boilers, batten down, cuddle up.
A flapping notice, well out of date, states
“Due to the drought SE Water supplies are
running low. It is suggested that, where
possible, boaters share locks”
I remember a time when we used to share
a bath and a plastic duck, but not to
conserve the water. And fishing was
allowed beyond this point.