Sunday, 18 September 2011

Sunday Poem


With combs carved from porpoise jaws,
they rake their seaweed tangles out
and coif their hair like centrefolds
at a poolside party on the rocks.

The waves froth like champagne;
the cliffs are mansionesque.
It’s all cocaine and late night orgies,
a certain moral depthlessness.

One spikes a branch of coral
in a bun upon her crown
and holds an ivory mirror up
to look at the result.

Another drags a salvaged rasp
across her fingernails
and flicks the water with her fins
as if to test its warmth.

The last one wields a bottleneck,
still wedged with shipwrecked scroll,
to pry an oyster shell apart
or mark her wrists with gills.
From Gift Horse (2011) by Mark Callanan.

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