John Westlake - 009. First Landing

A ship steams towards the shore
No port but a sandy beach
with tall palm trees stretching
like tired hippies

A crash of the falling anchor
the loud clanking of a chain
throws up the screaming birds
like a poor magicians card trick

The blanked like sail
flaps in the wind
an extra large hanky
waved by a sorry hand

The smoke from the funnel stops
the tired engine pants
like it has had too much exercise
the birds settle to rest again
as the ship slows to a stop

John Westlake

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/009-first-landing/