Condor Ferry, Jersey- St. Malo

Who says piracy’s dead? The ferry is charging double, because it is packed ‘You are lucky to get a seat, ’ they say, quite shamelessly School parties of giggling girls Like hormonal flamingos Mooch and pout and pose beside the portholes All legs and spots and manes of Saxon hair Sea mist sits on the waves Like a cloudy broth, steamy and impenetrable Two French Hells’ Angels Encased in shiny leather Visors open on their silver helmets Stand like giant ants beside the bar A pensioner loudly discusses his funeral arrangements Resentment festers, ruins the ferry crossing I want to shout from the poop deck ‘I’ve been fleeced.’ I want the operator to walk the plank