Found Poem: The Mastless Barges

As they slip up the Torridge to Bideford on the calm of a summer’s evening, their two or three men seem to walk on the half mile wide stretch of water and there are only the little islands of hatchways and the tall thin stove-pipe exhaust shooting out pulses of blue smoke

to show where there is a barge.

(See Basil Greenhill, Sailing for a Living, page 54)