Poem Category: Australian

squawking–
all of the gulls
he left fish heads

magpie
her gurgles answer
the cracks of an egg

paperbark tree
a roughhouse
to the ants’ way home

morning hello
the coffee foam
smiles on her lips

In hot north winds
no wattle trees shade
the cicada shrills.

starfish fingers
can only wag
at the gull’s attack

snail bait
unable to defend
tonight’s strawberry dessert

blackberries
her lips speaking purple
across the table

through the low country
magpies bathing
in pot holes of rain

late afternoon
in the hole of a fallen eucalypt
her daughter