I first wrote this as a prose poem but found it difficult to read. So I
rewrote as line verse as below. To me this reads better but as always,
criticsal comments are most welcome...
IT IS RAINING FISH
Wild melons growing in summer over
black soil plains in north west New South Wales
are called paddy melons. I once told some
of my Sydney friends how it rains fish out
here in violent late summer, late afternoon
thunderstorms. They refused to believe me.
No bullshit, fair dinkum, it rains little fish
about a quarter to half an inch long
sucked up from waterholes which have not dried
out in the hot sun with strong updrafts to
be dropped again into puddles and holes
squiggling and drying out in the small to
medium sized puddles to become fish
emulsion fertilizer and survive
in larger lagoons to again be sucked up
to fall with the rain down onto the plains
Bobby Cod, they are called and that is how
fish spread across the plains. A cowboy has
left a note for me to meet him at the
beat across the road from where I live and
we leave felt tip needs on toilet walls that
is how we meet. There is nothing as
sensual, erotic as making love to
a cowboy in the swishing black mud when
the late afternoon summer storms belt heavy
fish rain onto our wet naked bodies.
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