A ute hangs five
off Sweeny’s bend
in mechanical contradiction
the flooded open palm
of river anticipates
patient as the Boatman
while Cliff’s toupee
by a once in a hundred years gale
arrives back in town
an unexpected delivery
of tumbled matting hirsuteness
now a dislodged umlaut
chased by dogs
pecked by maggies
claw flicked by cats
rests finally in the mud
at the RSL car park
stamped down the middle
not on the side
A terrific poem, James. (Don't know exactly why, but I suddenly thought of these 2 old things.)
ReplyDeleteOFF THE OLD COAST ROAD
By the other hand off the old coast road
there’s a bend takes you back to the ocean
and a fence which I don’t think you’ll see
until you stop time enough to look past it.
Full marks if you’ve got the prescience,
but don’t get off this road till you’re ready.
The fever that was all you ever wanted
is two close lanes before and beyond. Two.
Wonder if you’ll ever get past your nerve.
Please don’t fool around with the edges of this,
grandstanding like a celestial idiot. Swerve
your hands off the wheel for only a second,
your God will change you. Nothing’s kidding.
The car you’re driving belongs to someone else.
Some guy just called his brother about an accident.
THE SEA
Sitting out the front in the bush
in a dry place distant from the sea
an almost ferro-concrete boat stared
at country cars for twenty years
chicken wire in an everything yard
conjuring up wet hull and spray
and the busy doubting Mallee
never did see finished the careful work
never heard more than talk of fishing
of station frame or final cementing
then the house was boarded up forever
maybe everywhere was unkind weather
it would never rain fishes there
the sun burned the imagination
salt water was eventually drinkable
the wind sprang up when the grog ran out
dreams moored against certain horrors
a fishing life where one man had none.
Glad you did - both fantastic. Life is weird, in the best way, I wrote one about the coast road and things round here, about a week ago!
DeleteVery strange, James. Often wonderful. To us I reckon is the challenge just to look for it.
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DeleteA fine poem indeed James - and what a nice finish in mud at the RSL carpark.
ReplyDeleteIt'll be good for Cliff's head.
Delete