In this episode of 'Poem of the Week' Graham Akhurst reads 'The Kadaitcha Sung'. ABR Editor, Peter Rose, introduces Graham who then reads and discusses his poem.More
The light's older
in these sandstone suburbs,
A clipped-haired man held a dog leash
saying one of us is single,
and even the leaves
had hunched their shoulders
in the gutters.
A waiter, golden-brown as a bread loaf,
squirted water at the pigeons
that sat cock-headed at the tables. My tart
are holding beers
and standing round
and not the barbecue;
turning over toddlers,
instead of steaks.
make the salads.
Perhaps the best cells are the ones we can't kill off,
a persistence of the fittest, although mutation's
always painful. It's two thousand and fourteen,
and I know no-one who has been
uninjured. It thinks in me,
this shadow. I put on sunscreen, and am surprised
to come in contact with my skin.
In the same day, I'm chatted up in a café
by an aspiring nove ... More