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,
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,
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
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:
For the complete collection, click here: Poetry, Peter Macrow
The Skippy Burger hits the pan.