|
The Corpse
By George Anderson
____________________
The sea spills in spasms onto the sandy shore
seagulls sit wading knee-deep, grooming
-you're joking, aren't you?
you're not going to get away with those crappy adolescent lines
The frigid winter air
invigorating
as a curious shape appears
lulling,
floating imperceptively
closer
to the wharf
-that's not how I remember it
it took place at night, no one was near the foreshore
The body is swollen
clothesless
genderless
the face blurred
a purple rotting pulp
-you're sensationalising now
is the graphic detail really necessary?
The harbour police
use a fish net & large bucket
to collect the wobbly
fragmenting frame-
a young cop vomits into the harbour
as the body is hauled onto the wharf
-wasn't that you? your reaction?
what do you hope to achieve by that image?
I scratch down a few more details
into my worn blue notebook
& as I bike northwards to Bulli into the headwind
I imagine the corpse/ its rotting frame dissembling/
leaking/
into the primordial fluid from which we once came
-a shonky, sentimental ending, you've stuffed it!
____________________
George says: “I was born in Montreal and
presently live in Thirroul, New South Wales. I teach high school English and
History and edit the school literary magazine Ephemeral. I love body surfing,
biking along the South Coast and showing contempt whenever it is deserved.”
|
