A column of steam shoots up,
A whispering finger of gun smoke.

“Ten minutes each side”
And the frenzy begins.

There is a split-second,
In which guilt strums a melancholic chord,
Diverting my one-track mind
From the charred flesh before me…

A Bennet’s wallby,
Common, magnificent,
Grazes on a dry and dusty buttongrass moorland.
Pouch full and wiggling,
Sleek fur coat glazed in the sun.

Seen through a cross-haired lens.

A hot breath of wind brings delegatensis to life,
Moves on:
Leaves dance, twitch, fall still…

I pull the bone-white serviette from my lap
And dab at delicious ignorance glistening on my lips.

© Andrew Plunkett

Peter Macrow,
Tasmanian Times Poetry Editor.
Tasmanian poets or those with a Tasmanian link are invited to send up to 5 poems which have not appeared previously in print or electronic media to:
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For the complete collection, click here: Poetry, Peter Macrow



Andrew Plunkett

The Skippy Burger hits the pan.