Hickory Dickory Dock
Joanne Lau
Tom Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest 2008 (view all the winners)
Most Highly Commended
Along the harbour it stands
White-faced, in a deep puzzle.
Tick, tock, tick sweeps its black hands
Spontaneously as usual.
Mounted there it does not comprehend
When it has become suddenly special.
Splashed by waves, confronted with gales,
For decades it stations at the dock.
Hickory, dickory, dock.
Hickory, dickory, dock.
Children sing while frolicking,
Telling and creating tales.
Businessmen in suits tread hurriedly,
Workers with tired sunburnt faces wait longingly,
Old men read their newspaper leisurely,
Young couples hand-in-hand stroll aimlessly,
Dressed-up ladies flip concert programmes elegantly,
And tourists click their cameras frantically.
He comes and goes,
She ages and grows,
Footsteps accumulate,
Its existence becomes accustomed.
Only until today we appreciate
And pay pilgrimage before too late.
In such paradoxical position it lies:
Packed with pilgrims bidding goodbyes,
Caressed by the concluding stares of admiration,
Cradled in the catchy lights of commercialization,
Sunbathed in dazzling flashes of cameras,
Submerged in searing shouts of visitors.
All of a sudden,
The blue railings of which we were unaware,
Every step of the stony stairs,
Every corner of the green pier,
The grey fan, the sign of fare
Become photogenic and full of flair.
Isn’t it a paradox?
Hickory, dickory, dock.
History, outdated or not?
Memory, lasts or be lost?
