Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Kerri Shying R # 170 Pumice


slapping round the welterweight of holidays
sliding on the leftover    hams  abounding   conversations
flowing like the froth on Mt Vesuvius

we used to go down Cronulla Beach
to pick up pumice   Dad would say that came
all the way from Hawaii    from a volcano

there is no second-guessing sudden longing
be it sliced beetroot from the tin  or candied yam
  the old coast road where the silver slats of sun-baked wood

held in the sheep before their long trips to the Gulf
reeking hard of urine even at that fair distance   we
soldiers of memory   screaming aloud     

bring the
vertigo of new year

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