Three Slab Five Tallulah: Words and Image by Lucy Holt and Dane Lovett

By and | 1 September 2013

Tallulah 2012 | acrylic and oil on aluminium composite panel | 40.0 x 30.5cm

Ode on Tallulah, or on the Man-made
for Kirra

She frolics her face in a bowl of water,
upturns the bright container
on its emptiness, cosmogenically.

She is precious with paw-thrush,
fearless in a barrel roll
which the whippet just steps over.
Her stub of snout is still too long for
Kennel Club standard, happily though it lets her
hurtle and not choke in clammy frills
of nose, a rose made out of bikie leather.

On the footbridge over the scrappy creek,
chicken-wire laid for human traction,
she trips over when a front claw catches.
There is nothing to be learnt or righted—
not while there are ducks to harangue from
a ten-foot height of Rapture.

When an eye near-popped out on holiday
it was put back in its setting by a vet-as-jeweller.
High-sorrowful Tallulah!

Her breed don’t do conception or birth
without a manned syringe of sperm
then scalpel. Yet none could deny her
spit-swept state of nature, a derrynge-do,
a raring-to, stirring ducks into placid elusion.

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