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This poem is taken from PN Review 138, Volume 27 Number 4, March - April 2001.

The Porthcawl Preludes Robert Minhinnick

Salt

Pray to the inexhaustible.
Sip the venomous vintages.
The first
                and true
Religion of this world
Is thirst.


The Drowning Man

            Over my head
        The grey pages
    Float down from the photocopier.
How could I ever have doubted
The sea's apocrypha?


Neap

        Surfer, cursing the calm,
Oystercatcher beeping like a smoke-alarm,
        Anglers weighting their lines:
Now and forever the sea's concubines.


Oyster

Tonight there's no mistake:
...


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