20 Jan

fired in the fields
screwed up hard
rescued from surf
rusted on tight

through their own home
dun steeds stampeded.
under their roof
trampled them to death.

Brisbane hitched up
her skirts and sashayed
backwards uphill
a bit too slowly

Lockyer’s tears
Wivenhoe’s overflow
salt king tides
Brisbane River rises
to repay
ignorance and neglect

now the highway is cut by the
river we can hear the soft wings
of commuting crows and fruit bats.
at sunset crows fly quiet and high
over the river to roost: but
the morning brings them low and loud
to recovering suburbia.
the crow’s not death: is the river?
the bat’s not evil: is the river?
the river is an old old friend
who rose up to meet us
with death and destruction.

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Posted by on 20 January, 2011 in POEMS


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