You're more likely to die inside
a revolving restaurant
after eating fugu liver
or have your blood boiled by lightning
outside the chapel
in Supai, Grand Canyon
than be taken apart, glassed
by men in grey suits
while treading water at the bar
of an off-shore reef.
Shadows on the earth or within a wave...
You won't see
what comes or lies in wait
to fashion a grave
between the harvest and the flail.
A mongrel back-flips to catch a Frisbee.
The last day of Autumn, the sky
coming in to land.
I’m listening to Slobberbone -
a guitar solo
followed by barking
as in the interruption
to an outtake of Dylan’s Every Grain of Sand.
I hear a whistle
as a dog somersaults for nothing
but the pleasure of leaving the ground.
Anthony Lawrence has published sixteen books of poems, the most recent being 101 Poems (Pitt Street Poetry, 2018) a selection from previous collections. Headwaters, (Pitt Street Poetry, 2016), won the 2017 Prime Minister’s Literary Awards for Poetry. He teaches Creating Writing at Griffith university, Queensland, and lives on Moreton Bay with his partner and two crazy dogs.