Joanne Burns

(5 December 1945 - / Sydney / Australia)

Digital Recording (After Eliot) - Poem by Joanne Burns

one thinks of all the hands
that whip money out of ATMs
quick as condoms, headache pills;
that jiggle herbal tea bags in thick
mugs like puppeteers; that fill
out lotto forms on a stream of
thin white shelves; that are
dropping shaggy track pants on
the floor beside a bed, that
press touchfones more than flesh;
that vote in cardboard booths
with short lead pencils, tied
to string like small harpoons:
that tremble at the mirror too
close to the patinas of their skin;
one thinks of all the hands, burning
teaspoons in a thousand motel rooms


Comments about Digital Recording (After Eliot) by Joanne Burns

  • Simon Collins (5/22/2012 3:27:00 PM)


    Oh, you are a brilliant observer and writer, thanks (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 22, 2012



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