I met this itinerant in a van
He says, “two huge cables dangle from cliffs
In Dunwich, on the slant, with a casing round
There’s printing on it where the shingle shifts
And drags at the retreating sandy ground
A bold script part-survives through rust, in blue
A knowing, falsely modest, lower case
Proclaims a proud legend for all to view
Who crunch along the edge of Doggerland
It tells me that the national grid renew…
the rest corrodes into the shingle strand
And that’s it. I’d have liked a cup of tea
But the café is long gone beneath the waves”
A gull skims the surface of the grey sea.
Rod Smith