The trawler

Every evening, my trawler's back. Making waves, always.
(what a poor poet I make, lol)

It's just that every evening, I feel this way, sick. Sick as if I'd be on a trawler, rolling on the waves, a fookin wind bringing back in my face the smell of fish and gas.
And nothing helps.
Just have to wait for the final trawler to leave for the other side of the planet! Grmmmpphhh