Poetry / May 2010 (Issue 11)

Two Poems

by Brenton Rossow

Morning in the Fishing Village 

picking her nose
without a hint of embarrassment,
we sit around the TV
and listen to the tinkle
of a bamboo xylophone

grandmother smiles
and squints in my direction
bees buzz around a table
of sugary treats
as a couple of dogs
sniff my ankles
and retire at my feet 

people ignore me
and go about their business

a little up the road
the sound of a funeral
tiptoes between the leaves
as a man with a face
like a twinkling frying pan
rides his bicycle
upon the spine
of a thirsty hill

sitting in silence;
in all directions,
rolling across
the sea
soon the fisherman
will be home
and their families
and leave me alone
with my scars and the breeze

The Petals of a Flower Spin Like a Helicopter  

the piano plays
the air conditioner whistles
my stomach clenches
waves break
on sharp grey rocks

someone's putting
a baby to sleep
someone's hanging
clothes out

a flower
has fallen
from a tree

hinges of a gate

the petals
of the flower
spin like a helicopter

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