Maudlin
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The chipper van and its tubs of curry scenting out low in the air of the Golden Anchors’ playground The cowshed across from the farm with the barking dogs held the warm mist of cow shit Striking matches in the car park letting one ruin the rest all flame at once, our Chinese trick My mother explaining the tracks of age she gave me her hand skin cracking with time; roads into mine The surf, the cliffs and the whirlpool at Clone still holding the art in all I do. Tommy’s sandy shop so full of youth Where all the voices, even whispered, were familiar and rose from the shaded laneway past the dusty barks of crab apple trees In the days of the Punt chocolate cigarettes and candy sticks. hay-stuffed Cornetto joints Friday night might resolve us to The Orphan Girl or foamy Beacon, wet romances or frighting blows. Afterwards we'd find our girls shiver out and give them hope feel the rush of the harbors gale Find our bus and signal home

Submitted on 2012-04-24 16:39:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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