Extract of poem by Chumki Banerjee
A poem inspired by this beautifully evocative sketch, gifted to me by local artist Felicity Wren, and in celebration of the old dock road, Liverpool’s Regent Road, reflecting on what remains of its past, as it is rapidly swallowed up.
You probably would need to know the Dock Road to get an inkling of what I am rambling on about, so why don’t you walk to the beat of the Admiral’s feet and follow in his steps.
SCREWING IN HIS MONOCLE
A life in the day of the admiral of Admiral Street, Liverpool eight: admirable or abominable, you decide
* Rising with the crowing cock, standing proud in just his socks, dreams still wet from salt spray docks, the Admiral arose.
* Squinting at dawn’s glinting crack, fond recollections flooding back, exotic lands where caught in flack, he captured dusky beau.
* Screwing in his monocle, rising lead his oracle, caressing bushy follicles, he slips his fingers in.
* Slippery, shiny, Vaseline slick, finest asset soldier stiff, curls commanding upward flick, he whets red gash of lips.
* Brandishing his sturdy stick, telescoped to swingeing wick, mastiff fondly roused with kick, the Admiral sallies forth.
* Barometer set for foul or fair, though fleet no longer in his care, scalped of tri-corn, head stripped bare, he heeds his duty’s call.