How the Tide Turns

By | 1 August 2015

A hot gust in the millionaire’s wattle tree and what we need is a good dousing
Among the unbalances in her story, the lack of mention of her other life
Sarsaparilla mixed with coca cola and it tastes just like Bonnington’s Irish Moss
‘You’ve got it right’ she said, ‘staying in your marriage’ and it felt like a blow to the head
The shining of Ellesmere, the kingfisher in the mud-flats, the water cold and rolling
To drive there and back, slipping through the lush passes of the valleys
A winding glen, a curved knife, the defect of bent shoulders
In the absence of rain the child says ‘rain’ and now look, it’s started raining

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