They never sailed in over the horizon,
the men in their gunships and dark blue
uniforms. So after all the decades spent
standing around watching and waiting,
the harbor guard withdrew, leaving
behind an empty playground of batteries
and battlements. Blast doors eaten through
by salt-laden air. A wooden watchtower
like a toy tipped on its side. Weather-worn
concrete frescoed in soot and moss. Rivets
and rust. All crumbling into the sea
or half smothered in ivy and gorse.
Seen from the high bluff beneath an eagle
that rides updrafts in long slow circles,
where some trick of sound ringing off water
brings me the echoes of children’s voices
from a beach a half a mile away, these ruins
offer strange comfort. And I wonder
what they stand for. How the structure
of our defenses persist so long
after the threat of invasion has passed.
the men in their gunships and dark blue
uniforms. So after all the decades spent
standing around watching and waiting,
the harbor guard withdrew, leaving
behind an empty playground of batteries
and battlements. Blast doors eaten through
by salt-laden air. A wooden watchtower
like a toy tipped on its side. Weather-worn
concrete frescoed in soot and moss. Rivets
and rust. All crumbling into the sea
or half smothered in ivy and gorse.
Seen from the high bluff beneath an eagle
that rides updrafts in long slow circles,
where some trick of sound ringing off water
brings me the echoes of children’s voices
from a beach a half a mile away, these ruins
offer strange comfort. And I wonder
what they stand for. How the structure
of our defenses persist so long
after the threat of invasion has passed.
Todd Campbell is a speechwriter, poet, and mosaic artist based in Seattle, where he has lived for the past three decades. His poetry has appeared in Pangyrus, Poet Lore, Reed Magazine, Tar River Poetry, Watershed, and elsewhere.