Issue 9

Autumn 2013




Napoleon’s Hat is there, so they say,
on the pink granite coast where water’s weight
has rounded rocks to a sculptured flesh
of frozen rosé etched into shapes
of Turtle, Bear and Elephant.

We took the customs officers’ path
and came upon an Upturned Foot
and The Pile of Crêpes. At Ploumanach
two scuba divers, female, French, 
emerged crablike and climbed the ramp,
unzipped each other with practised knack.
But we couldn’t find Napoleon’s Hat.
At our house I browsed the internet
and found it’s a sexual act or position
involving a bloke laid on his back
beneath a pair of embracing women.
I’ve studied photographs this way and that,
thought long and hard about going on back
but I just can’t see it myself.



Ray Miller