20 MARCH 1993, Page 37

Cattleboat

The tongue on him from drinking out the days, and the house crying, he leaves for the docks to board his ship the cattleboat from Cork that tips and arks its way to Libya the decks iron drums the hooves pound as they shift in a hull rolling over long bones of sea, and on watch alone his fingers touch lightly the helm, playing away waves to gentle a thousand head below, the good in him finding its way.

Ted McNulty