He lives a life alone on his floating kingdom, <br />A Dutch barge of immaculate neatness. <br />Barry left a life of greed and falsehoods <br />Many years ago <br />To start a new life on the Cut. <br />His old, grizzled and wrinkled face <br />Resembling Vespasian in all his madness <br />Belies the gentleness underneath. <br />The scowl he wears turns into a beam <br />When our paths meet. <br />We share coffee and music, <br />Played expertly on his organ <br />In an atmosphere of complete peace. <br />The inlaid mahogany and carved hardwoods <br />Of the interior <br />Are lovingly maintained and proudly exhibited <br />To all who care to share <br />And appreciate true artistry. <br />Barry talks of portholes and how they must be the right ones, <br />And how to tell if they're not, <br />Of wildlife and water <br />And the washing away of the banks. <br />The glass of lemonade he carries around <br />As if a beloved baby <br />Contains a shot or two of vodka, <br />Well hidden in its clarity. <br />And the cigarette hanging loosely <br />From his mouth is taken up <br />Every so often, by his gnarled old hands <br />To flick and return once more to his lips. <br />Then he disappears into the bowels of his barge, <br />Soft lighting emitting from round spaces <br />Along its length, <br />Bidding goodnight to the world.<br /><br />Francesca Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/barry-of-the-cut/
