better days

She has seen better days
loitered at the water’s edge
for an age, unclaimed and still
roped to a post, deftly settling in
when the river recedes to mudflat
then the tide seeps back, fingering the banks
slipping through broke-back curves
between ribs of wet wrecked decking
where shorebirds primly pick their way
and lichen and sunlight bequeath an amber glow
to her lilting tilted body

once a small whale calf of a row boat
lay alongside – a vague shattered outline it is now
in memorium to her homely comely
houseboat heyday

Frank prompts us to make a poem of Descriptive detail