Coast Roads - Poem by Michael Brennan
Nipples hard as bullets, that’s how her way
With words put it. There wasn’t much
Left to say after that, with the ferry leaving
At four. Given good traffic, I’d be home
In time for the coup. I’d been holidaying,
Fixing fishing nets up and down the coast.
I always had a gift for such things,
Prone to long silences and spitting the dumby.
It’s sad to leave new friends but who could complain
if the conversation soured a little
Between talk of pet hates and hobbies. It’s true,
Like everyone, I like the sound of a kneecap snapping.
Am I criminal simply for saying it? Even so,
Janette ironed the lapels of my uniform, made sure
The gold braid sat straight, that the medals shone
Bright, appropriate given the circumstances.
You have to love the attention to detail,
Her eyes always on the big picture.
Driving up the coast road, with smoke
Gathering on the horizon, I still wasn’t sure
What her way with words was, but she did have
Plenty of nets to fix and you can’t complain about that.
I’m often staggered by the waste and carelessness
Of people, but was happy to be on the way home,
With plenty of heads ahead to crack, and the thought
of those hard nipples safely tucked away.
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