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More poems by Les MurrayLes Murray | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Les MurrayBooks by Les Murray

Late Summer Fires

Les Murray

The paddocks shave black
with a foam of smoke that stays,
welling out of red-black wounds.
 
In the white of a drought
this happens.  The hardcourt game.
Logs that fume are mostly cattle,
 
inverted, stubby.  Tree stumps are kilns.
Walloped, wiped, hand-pumped,
even this day rolls over, slowly.
 
At dusk, a family drives sheep 
out through the yellow
of the Aboriginal flag.

Added: 25 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 15 Oct 2018 4:54 PM | Viewed: 5052 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2972/ | Viewed on 15 October 2018.
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