new zealand electronic poetry centre


Graham Lindsay

online works

Christmas day 1992

A jet crosses the sky
it's a long

and the engines sound

exhausted, like drains, the dead
whisper of a spacecraft at the end
of its journey through the yellow

Down here in the provincial
backyards of an antipodean
city on the coast you can hear

the kid next door ask his mum 'Mum
is that pork?' twice.
She is caught

in a spell of light in the late
afternoon kitchen.

Across the road cars ruminate
in a secondhand salesyard

on the imminent intersection between
setting sun and horizon.


Graham Lindsay

Last updated 15 July, 2004