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THE CONCH
Long legged hornets float thickly
Droning through ancient dust particles
Dappled in daylight
The pale splintered driftwood of time
Cloaked loosely in blowing fleece
Drunk on beer bottles 1938, 1948, 1958
Coupled frogmouths flutter
Aware of your Parramatta joggers
As they cringe along breezy rafters.
And five swelling swallows
In minute mud nests...stare mutely
A lame steam engine stands whistling
Hot and solid, a baking beauty
A lover of the giant King Brown.
Purple bottles melt, on floodplains
And dry, and die in dust
And a shearers shed sleeps
The conch of the desert ... |
