Poem By John Blight
Dinghies, those disreputable carts of the sea,
Driverless, and horseless, idle on the mud;
Out-of-date, yet still suffered; tied up
-As if they’d bolt-with chains to the jetty.
Touch one, and watch the red furious blood
Rising in some Lilliput admiral. Top
Of the tide, and they’re jostling like wild
Sea-chariots. Never was a tribe of midgets, but
They were like these little pugnacious,
Racial-upstarts; these sea-carts that a child
Can overload and lord it over. Put
One in the tide-race, where its spacious
Flat veranda-bottom entices kicks
And the sea will kick; show how a cart rocks.