(corymbia citriodora)
Dove-grey, satin-barked eucalypts:
sometimes you come across lines
of them bordering a road –
silky trunks that no one has written on,
carved their name or the date.
Indeed, miraculous that
they felt no need to blemish such skin,
that it was allowed to crinkle with years,
ageing at its own pace, the svelte branches
reaching into shades of sky.
On both sides of the road, these sentinels
lock in perfumed silences over long summers,
settle into being admired, as works of art
are admired, with even graffitists standing back,
pocketing their knives.
(after George Grosz)
The trap has closed on its neck –
body bloated, tail straight,
fur and whiskers bristling.
Its hind legs hang,
the eyes glassed-wide-in terror --
a small animal still in its own skin.
You come back to the spindly shanks
that gave way, the dangling
forepaws that lost their grip.
Katherine Gallagher is a widely-published Australian poet resident in London. She has five full-length collections of poetry, most recently Carnival Edge: New & Selected Poems (Arc Publications, 2010) - 'its natural territory the exotic and unknown, the fringe and carnivalesque . . .' Poetry Review.
www.katherine-gallagher.com Twitter: @Katherinexyz23