• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 02
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Fishing Off Galata Bridge

Second Friday last March
on Galata Bridge, east side
the four of us sat
from dusk to daybreak.

No clouds just stars
as the crescent glowed
on our anoraks and poly-blankets
keeping out Istanbul cold with

legs crossed, half awake
trotlines cast to the HaliƧ
en pursuit of the bream
or sea bass or anything

apart from cycle frames
rusted and warped
we brought up to the surface
after decades in the silt.

So we change our bait
to something more attractive
to fish in the Bosphorus
far from passing tankers.

We hook cotton wool balls
bought from a store off Taksim
onto to our trotlines then
throw them to the water but


Fishing Off Galata Bridge

do not have a good feeling
do not know what we will catch.
Perhaps a tonne of tuna
but more likely, milk bottles.