King of the Dockyard

Four o'clock across the basin,
salt and diesel on the stone.
Every freighter knows my lantern,
every hawser knows my grip.
Heavy crates from Valparaiso,
teak and copper in the hold.
Forty tons above the water,
swinging easy in the dark.

King of the dockyard,
counting out the steel.
Shadows on the water,
sparks upon the wheel.
Listen to the whistle blow,
morning takes the pier.

Men arrive in wool and canvas,
smoking near the weighbridge gate.
No one speaks until the foreman
turns the tally on the wall.

I have seen a thousand vessels
come to rest along the bay.
They will leave before the sunrise,
leaving nothing but their foam.

King of the dockyard,
counting out the steel.
Shadows on the water,
sparks upon the wheel.
Listen to the whistle blow,
morning takes the pier.

Now the daylight hits the gantry,
golden yellow on the rust.
Keys are heavy in my pocket,
and the water turns to glass.

King of the dockyard,
counting out the steel.
Shadows on the water,
sparks upon the wheel.
Listen to the whistle blow,
morning takes the pier.