Trenched, turning timber, gnarled ‘n knotted, bolted, nailed, a-worn by wet ‘n windy weath’ring roughly cauterising marrow, narrow Niles not spilling over ‘long the valleyed vale – unvertical; “Avast!” the axe-fall blade, abrupt, demanded death-industrial: it called, it falled, found its fortune to be laid upon the wharfway stone – a boneyard, ‘boreal, the brown of lumber ‘breast the plated steel.
They sat their weary bottoms on the wood.
“Wot wee angin round fore?” said Worker A.
“Thuh big boss man.” said Worker C.
“Big lit-ul boss man.” said Worker B.
“Wotz ee want? Uh bigger boat?” said Worker A.
“Puh-apz uh sphinx upon thuh bough ‘n sturrrn.” said Worker B.
“Doant nokim too much.” said Worker C.
“Yess yess. Juss taykin thuh piss.” said Worker B.
“Speekin uh piss… Fyool ikskyooz mee…” said Worker A.
“Too layt.” said Worker C and Worker B in tandem.
“Aaahshhhhhit.” said Worker A.
“Too layt furr that ‘n awl, too.” said Worker B.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel brought his cigar to his mouth and smoked it.
Image credit – Batnomad