Flood Proof

the flood passes me by
in a grunge run down the valley
drenched bandit
gathering its flotsam
sunlit starlit litter

the foreshore is a velodrome to lost particles

        we are told not to touch
        the sea foam
        so fizzy
        its bubbling froth
        is pure sewage

the tide creeps back in shock and shame
blood line stuck in a rip has had a gut full

downdrift pitches to a silver floating tone
        shifting the microplastics

bloated cattle carcass
exclaims its grief in the shallows
twitched mast of a dinghy
pokes its tongue out
of splintered waters

                       split hank
of fisherman’s rope lies rotting with fish heads
           frayed nerves exposed
a hole gapes in the bridge’s flank
containers dropped like space junk
on rolling bearings

the foreshore has heard this all before

sand bags are fat and heavy
the river bank has gobbled the crops and buried the dead


This poem is taken from Little Bones in Red Clay and was also previously published in Australian Poetry Anthology 5, and in Ginninderra Press ‘Wild’ anthology.

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