Oops, Blogger did not maintain GN's lines.  It's testament to the poem's quality that Blogger's prose-poem looking version is much inferior.  Here's, hopefully, restoration:

Lachrymatory

Geoffrey Nutter

Remote controlled substation no. 10,
a utilitarian structure down by the tracks

that run past the ruined marina,

was built in 1931, and is now being

renovated. Scaffolding has been erecte

dall along its sides. A big coil

of damp rope is lying in a pile

of broken concrete, brick, and plaster.

The topmost row of the chain-link fence

that runs along the river

is twisted into barbs, and shredded

plastic sacks are snagged in the barbs

as far as the eye can see: dirty gray

and shredded, flapping in the wind.

A candy box, once green, has been

bleached out to light blue by the sun.

Silent gray boulders are lapped at

by waves. What’s that

in the mud where the tide is going out?

Buttons; bottle caps; small bits

of styrofoam that look like shells or coral;

a few dead crabs; a cracked porcelain

vessel from the Victorian era

for containing the tears shed by those

who have survived the death of loved ones.

Signs are posted to warn against

the consumption of eels by children.