All that plundering 

And wanton shivering of his timber 

Has brought comeuppance

And seagull shit 

Raining down.

 

This stud must have raked the whips of hell

Through every great ocean on earth

To have been sentenced

To imprisonment here. 

 

On the crust of the English Channel. 

 

Fenced in 

With salt breath 

A torture on his back. 

 

Forced in

Like a baby in the bear pit. 

 

Rigid. 

As shrieking putting parties 

Wang their clubs around 

And wayward golf balls

Hit him in the nuts. 

 

It’s like seeing Aslan,

Once mighty,

Shaven and bound on the stone table.

Such acute humiliation. 

 

Such a handsome face.