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  • Sam Hacking

Mudflat


Today my shadow is fifty feet long.

The light is strong burnt popcorn.


The water licks and laps its way in, curling, trudging.

The banging of boat mast lines, slap and shiver.


Swallows dart and dive surround sound,

closing down the ground till wing tips stroke grass.


The wind plays merry spit with my hair.

Gulls squawk and wail,

Redshanks probe fire beaks into mud.


Orange buoys bounce on river surface, the skimming of suns.


I see the spread of gulls across mudflats,

I feel their heat and noise, huddled down in muck.


The rain clouds are coming.


Bind weed with monstrous white funnels,

pop across boat yard fences.


Wreaths to merry a boats final resting place,

unkempt and pulled to shore to rest.


Gravel sings the crunch of loose change underfoot,

pulled out teeth.


A carrier bag floats jellyfish into sky,

puffed out, fluffed out,

a twig picks it ripe from the air, impaled and silenced.

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