Brunhnhilde in a duffle coat
strides down the jetty,
grace submerged
under bulky cablestitch,
baggy pants
and boots with ‘attitude’.
Straight fall of Nordic hair
grants scarce a glimpse
of finely sculpted bones.
Her pockets may be deep enough
for daily needs and secrets.
She carries on a coathanger
the dormant shape of elegance,
a subtle understatement
svelte, silky black.
Doc Martens squarely planted
on the gently shifting wharf
she waits to be transported
across the dusking harbour,
holds promises
of moonlight
and moody saxophones
and all the piquant hazards
of tomorrow’s languourous wakening.