Newlyn Boats nudge and jostle for room to sway. The sun shivers on their bright sides. Gulls swoop down to take dead fish. Nifty nets ready to go to sea. Raggy ropes hang off beams of boats.
Boats shine as they jump up and down.
Dead fish and crab bodies all over the slippery deck. Rusty chains clink and clank Crates full of fish wait to be sold. The boats huddle together like cold children And oily patterns cover the surface. The surface of the water looks crinkled. And the stench of oil hangs around the harbour.