The Cranedriver Lands A Whopper As anyone knows if they've waded through dawn mist along riverbanks and seen stoic fishermen hypnotised by their motionless floats, the more gear you've got the longer you'll wait. So why should the cranedriver fret as his cabin creaks in the sun, the waffling engine thrums through the joysticks and its offbeat expletives rock his seat ? A man at the hole's edge flicks out a hand-signal. The crane's guy wires judder the engine house shakes as the driver reels in. The pulleys run smoothly hawsers focused with their unseen load which, long minutes later rises, stately into the light: a yellow skip as bright as Cleopatra's barge. The crane trembles like a man doing pull-ups, iron pride barely keeping him there. The driver breaks no sweat: deftly scissoring the joysticks he swings his catch round and sets it down so gently it is an act of courtesy. next poem