Penton Hook Lock

The Lady Tegan moored, then Heloise,
securing lines from head and stern to wait
alongside bollards fixed to narrow quays.
September - conkers stuck to rusty trees
with Autumn holding back and Summer late.
So someone suns on deck with panama hat
and tinted glasses tilted back at ease.

Hydraulics moan and creak the closing gates-
a final clang and shudder locks the lock;
and then an in-between of parakeets
atop the chestnuts, water lapping slack
while slowly dropping down on surface slick,
exposing algae walls and sunken leats,
re-surfaced green and dripping brick.

From towpath passing by the lock-keeper's house,
a pause of swirling leaves and flotsam trails;
the afternoon adjusts in quiet intervals
to birdsong, meadow grass and grazing horse;
until, at last, the lower gate reveals
the waiting river's long-reaching course-
and then the steering through on even keels.