Sub­ma­rine Grave­yard

The London Magazine - - CONTENTS - Hugh Dunker­ley

From the road you see them, blunt hulks hemmed in now by flak­ing barges,

re­dun­dant land­ing craft, the ground that has grown around them a pelt

of rose­bay wil­lowherb and rut­ted, oil-stained grass. De-fanged, stripped

of their deadly bur­den, they kil­ter at a lean. Any­thing of value’s been plun­dered,

con­ning tow­ers gut­ted, wiring pulled out like so much spaghetti,

decks ripped off and trucked away. Only the dense, im­mov­able hulls re­main,

sub­sid­ing slowly into mud, the land heal­ing over them, a new penin­sula inch­ing

into the bay; though their kin still plough the seas

or lurk un­seen, their pay­loads sim­mer­ing with readi­ness.

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