on corrugated iron
over the slow fire of time
Straight from the shell
plump pink
with tiny crabs entombed
Blackberries picked on the dusty road
rutted sand
rocking grey of the Morris laden down
Black sand of the wild beach
slow cooling and a Taranaki sky
bare reefs exposed to a quarter moon
Black armbands now
for memories of picnic bankets
rusty hooks and seaweed popping
slow to burn, slow to burn
Roger Smith
January 2003
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