Ken's Poetry

Tourists

Kirkland Waterfront

Boats like suckling piglets wriggle at their posts,
wavelets slap and rattle on their hulls,
engine wound up a frantic launch
rushes across the unhurried lake.

Peace blows here, air-conditions the mind,
drains away day’s frenzied heat.
Seattle city stacked up on the hill
above the dabble of rooftops and trees
pins itself solidly on the floating eye.

The locals turn their backs upon the day,
sip coffee, drink the news,
once in a while glance over the paper edge
at the ferry growing on the grey;
whilst tourists sit and soak the sound
of the singing waltzing waters round.
A child breathes bubbles down the breezy bay.