Crabbing at Walberswick ~ a poem by Carole Bromley

Crabbing at Walberswick

The biggest of the sixty-four we caught
that morning, King of crabs, reared up,
pincering the air, while, underneath,
the sixty three resigned to their fate,
had seen it all yesterday, the day before,
last summer when they were titchy and soft
and didn’t yet know they only had to wait
and the children would tip them back in
and run, squealing; that the day would go on,
the sun climb in the sky, and more lardons
be dangled on grubby pieces of string.

Carole Bromley

Carole Bromley is a York-based poet, stanza rep for the Poetry Society, winner of a number of prizes including the Bridport and the 2019 Hamish Canham Award. Latest publication, a pamphlet, Sodium 136, from Calder Valley Poetry. She tweets @CaroleBromley1

Photo credit @davidclode at

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