Poem — David Howard

Now here

 

Family snaps in leatherette albums prove
“nothing lasts forever” (thanks Mum) as shadows
crawl on their stomachs, the sun
sinks in the West you never won. Looming
into the tedium waiters understand
the way nostrils understand incense, you
drop your glasses onto Carrara marble
polished by butcher’s cheesecloth.

Bees boil your Siberian crab-apple as a bellbird
curtsies its branches. You yell
Gidday to the red dress next door: she
fumbles her keys. Her tongue is dry
like a thornbush after the nor’wester
and her glare invents the end.

 

David Howard

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