by Nick Gisburne
Bedevilled by approaching summer storms
The dockers haul and stack their precious freight
Coordinated madness, skilful swarms
They cram the holds to scrape a legal weight
The city, spooked, already in retreat
Is winched by clockwork, sinking to the sea
And only when the riggers dip their feet
At last, the cables cut, the ships pull free
With telescopes extended to the sky
Kinetic engines primed beyond their peak
The ships - the May, the Mary - both apply
Momentum, flouting every groan and creak
Full steam, across the planetary lines
With cargo for the Martian aether mines
