Poems

Palimpsest of Fruitpicking

Finnish, the Danish, brazen
Brazilians delegate reps
itinerants plunking
apricots, yellowed to pitch
magnificence, sexed to dwarf
the Orient, at each other or
into buckets. Buckets stencilled
full
not full
full amore
of fleeting pickers’ graffiti. We’d need
our teenage polyglot to exhume
that body of exquisite corpse
What may it read? They were here …
Aussie in orchards and pruning ovaries
The sunscreen of minuscule cash
versus utility bills of an Englishman’s home warmed from solar panels
cultivate? Tractors, utes gloss ground in flight
patterns harvested by flightless
Mallee fowl
queen bee swains
Groving diesels
burp exhaustion, and addling our beaks
shouts a boo! film of soot
on eyes, schnoz, foreign tongues scribbling
lingo
fatwa
bukkake
lewd offers on the slide
of bins, unbuttoning monotony. All the more
brazen glance down Cariocas lunging
up through their halters in fruit-
ful grabs toward fruit. Too, night’ll
spring flowers, long-
stems
picked
in hostels. There’s never a honey shortage
at breakfast in Mildura

 

 

Glacier at the End of an Unsealed Road

A glacier christened Franz
on its birth certificate
lords spry at the cut
an unsealed road
in New Zealand bit
and your camera’s detection
a peckish watch. Its napkin
unfurling The Remarkables’
crumbs
into the lap
of a honeymoon. Silt
Observe how It vacuums
in that vunerable road
like a wandering ribbon
of linguini that scrabbles
up over the Tasman
clean across Nullarbor
swans through the Pacific
to Ecuador
where it splats
in a transmitted whiplash
like the tail of a junk fish
netted and bound for a serve
of dumptruck ceviche.
It’s elephantine, this Franz
frosty a nous of wedding-cake ebb
and older than that joke
refertilised with time - the one
about poker
and dachchunds
cigars …
Detect how
this pasta trick
yes, ancient and worn
beguiles the punga fronds
who’ve not lost their humour
or track
of the maiden-name times

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