Undertow

Eyes wide in the dark, I listen. A thud upon the hull,
drumming, like a cold caller stoic at a bolted door.
I lift the hatch and go outside. Bright stars
dulled by the galaxy of city. I grab the gaff
and spear, jabbing at the dead. Before it surfaced,
glowing. The sharp teeth bared in a tight cruel mouth.
A water rat, pickled by the Thames. The rodent
ghost in a tidal grave, gnawing at the deep, the ditch silt
washed from a tainted field, and the poor boy
snagged on a mooring rope. A Tower Bridge
jump, they say. A young man drowned in a suit, dressed
for the end. He is the dream I keep to myself,
where I outswim doubt and dread. Where the police
untie his body, and carry him ashore like a saint.