-
MAL ROBERTSON
Cow
with no Name
-
- Coming
down a Cygnet hill,
- her wobbling hind, dipping head
- is sign enough; slips arm behind
- seat back of his ute, for
shells,
- slides stock and steel from its
rack.
-
- Gambol grinds, she contours down
- avoids her weight-pain cloven
tip,
- shoulders gripped, her bone
borne
- broken knee splits sideways
- sandwiched between shank and
hip.
-
- Bale burst draws her to the
barb,
- token alms cross the wire,
- last meal, straw biscuits
wheeling;
- harm cannot heal; a break from
life
- there is no stealing.
-
- Up, back, forward, down,
- she masticates, oiled clicks;
- milky breath, egg eyes gleam,
- disguised, a hollow point of no
return
- lifted from the magazine.
-
- He thinks she knows,
- he knows she thinks,
- bone grit reckoned;
- skull borne, aims, she winks
- at the bullet with her name
- in a splitting second.
-
Mal Robertson
is currently working on a collection of poems that explore links between place, character
and the passing of time. He reads at the Republic Bar, and teaches in Hobart where he
lives with his family.
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