"is been dry for months"
in the taxi and road slick
fire engines, melange of branches
and wish of asphalt
fiddling with the ticket machine
with the language
have a cheesy-mite scroll
if you're hungry
can you eat your words
while the wind gales
sucking each struggling syllable
drumming its old earth tune
newly played round scaffold
steel still holding
and damp bowling club lawn
squeaks a compact grass tune
as the Concordia Club's German
credentials flutter - yellow, red
black - which folds into
the story of this land
with what intent
it's just a day of gale force
a lot of water
and experience seeking language
"is been dry for months"
now rain blots the words
Jill Jones
Kogarah and back, morning, 23 March
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