Robert Verdon


Anzac Day at Tuross

things we can’t quite recall …
north of Coila lake
grey clouds mirror the low range
the surf comes in like a country train
king parrots land on the bird-feeder
like the arrival of the bee-box
in this paragon of coastal development
Tuross, mate

and I missed the Dawn Service

suddenly the sun explodes
a nuclear tiara over the sea
we’re from inland
nowhere near Hiroshima

the comely clouds pink, then cottony
the planet spins
another profitable day begins

… things we can't quite recall
the busker at the shops who makes me cry
glissandos of genocide
our own little world war

how many died here and dreamed
213 years ago?

Born in London in 1954, I have been a writer since the age of 8. I came close to winning the Anutech Prize (Canberra, Australia) in 1992 and was a finalist in 1994 and 1998. I live in Canberra and have much short fiction and poetry published here and abroad. I was a member of the collective Aberrant Genotype Press 1998-2002 until admitted to hospital with cirrhosis of the lover, sorry, a typo, liver. (I have nothing to do with the Pheasant Pluckers, My books include The Well-Scrubbed Desert (Polonius, 1994), Her Brilliant Career (Aberrant Genotype Press, 1998), My Cat Eats Spaghetti (Ginninderra Press, 1999), and The Artful Dole-Bludger [with Caroline Ambrus] (Irrepressible Press, 2000). I have an Honours degree in English and (almost) a Masters in Applied Linguistics. A PhD is possibly on the way. And they say the poor get children.

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