The Opposite of Glamour
It is an old workboat.
Nothing more.
The paint is pitted.
Seaweed and an odd barnacle clings to the hull.
Serviceable and strong,
Barely noticed by the tourists
who come for glamour on the grand canal,
it is the glue that holds the city together,
a hauler of crops and commerce,
quietly puttering in the background,
loading and unloading,
the opposite of glamour,
and far more important.
About this poem.
Time to get writing poetry without the benefit of cough syrup.
The picture was taken in Venice.
Tom
