Stump, trunk and can

Bonny Cassidy

 

Your torso parked against a salmon gum.

 

Or, you as a terrified hero-horse, chest

ground against the earth.

 

You made by fat, drastic thumbs;

and a squiff of zinc for your fag-end.

 

Now you’re a bastard

you might as well dress like one

and eat the meat that bastards eat.

 

The distended spider hanging

from a mosquito coast; its network of tails.

 

The bear at the centre of the colosseum.

 

You as teal-coloured, graven

with signs of delta: whiplash, eel and parvenu.

 

The cup with two saucers.

 

Your shin as a root that rests

while the body walks on.

 

You as a hull fading into view.

 

Planed by the rush, sockets thrown,

your face coming away in my hands

like an anchor.

 

Falling through streets—pausing

to lick the page, wake

muffled in the crotch of a long gaze.

 

Bonny Cassidy is author of two poetry collections, Certain Fathoms (Puncher & Wattmann, 2012) and Final Theory (Giramondo, 2014). She teaches Creative Writing at RMIT University and is feature reviews editor for Cordite Poetry Review. Bonny recently undertook the Australian Poetry Tour of Ireland, giving readings and workshops in Dublin, Cork and Belfast.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: