Crete by Colin Honnor

Stukad through the day, the air screams
in the open boat their bones are keel-strakes
their faces ribs the ribs planed to hunger
they unfold from salted wet leather
their girls in Oxo stockings, the Mae Wests
breast each others’ suns in their eyes, soak
and one by one slip off the gunwhale
to blood flowering in shrapnel-ploughed troughs
as seawater drives mirage of veiled palms,
lips float in brines of madness, hunger
they slide to the oblivious empire
one holding the salt-black wallet
with faded wings stamped upon it.

 


Colin Honnoris a widely published poet in numerous magazines in print
and online; Collections, mostly from small presses and private presses include
From Underground (Mirabilis) ; Dante; Cavafy; The Somme; (Yew Tree
Press). English Poetry is forthcoming from the University Press of America.
He is a former editor of Poetry and Audienceand runs a fine arts press in the
Cotswolds.