That man in rumpled clotheswith grey tufts of hair
sprouting from his woollen cap
sitting up
against the harbour wall
an empty bottle by his side
is Jimbo
sleeping off the afternoon.
Of the craftsmen round here
Jimbo breathes life into driftwood
makes park benches from scrap iron
stylish doors from old planks
window frames from rubbish skips
and once
from an old beech tree
he constructed a sailing boat
to skim the surface of the deep.
In summer
winter
around this time each day
he settles down to whiskey
vodka
gin
or any demon maker
until he’s almost
senseless and
when his friends forget him
he spends the night
outdoors
snoring to the stars.