Saturday, March 24, 2012

In this dream
our first picnic sails along
on a blanket just above the flames.

The women wearing gingham frocks
making it seem so very sad, Uncle John
juggling his belly on a tricycle.
The bacon-rind on the sliced bread

a wizened hieroglyph meaning nothing,
the cucumber circles sitting on the sockets
of your mother’s eyes.

Robert Adamson, “The Australian Crawl