Friday, 15 December 2006

Poem - Epiha Road

Black mussels spitting their juice
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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