Last Light
It’s about screaming
jumping
under the low round moon
at the edge of the sea
She’s got hair that comes down
to the top of her bum
the middle one
(they’ve ranked themselves neatly)
The shortest of the three
has knife edge ankle bones
They’re all in little plastic back-less shoes
It’s about standing in a line
at the edge of the water
just above the dark of the last wave’s mark
dead straight
waiting for the bigger wave
(none very big tonight)
waiting for the wave that might wet their feet
And then hopping back
clutching each other by the tops of the arms
with squeals
loud
eyes open
Page(s) 22
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- Lamport Court
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- North, The
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
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- Yellow Crane, The