King Edward’s Quay, Cassia Stuttard

Drape your arms over the guard railings, just like
on washing day, and tilt your head up so you can see
the clouds scrumpled like a duvet over buildings
but edging closer to peer over the ships’ shoulders.
Wait past three o’clock when the sun makes faces
at the wall, mucking around with shadow puppets
in the slumping afternoon just for the laughs.
The bridge arches its back and springs across the river
but stay by the railings for another couple of hours to watch
pale pink murmur and breathe from beneath clouds as
lights spill themselves into the water in drunken sloppiness
and the river stumbles over its own feet in the darkness.