Bora born

The final cut _

Innisfail caught up in a winter cycle
of fine weather, sings the air crushed sugar sweet.
A mother's numbers of 22 bless the
morning in a cemetery visit quiet time
with all thempla strange bedfellows there inside.


In town there's time for a chicken wrap breakfast
with chips on the side; one coffee for the road.
Memories revive of saturday mornings
down here when all kind language settled on the
main street where not a word of english was heard.


Such a place as this had it's way with you in
them there days of salad bowls of cultured bling.
The afterglow from the spent force of free love
still reverbed through this tropical paradise
of barbary coast culture's broken down life rules.


The sextant had ok'd the tombstone lift, the
old man's grave, a gruesome affair found inside.
Disinterred, two lots of murdered ashes to
be opened then poured back on hallowed ground to
dissolve in mother earth's eternal bosom.


- O -


© 29th july 2022 _ Ioan James Daniel


Author's notes are here.



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The final cut _

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