| COWBOYS |
|---|
|
Last night ghost riders dropped from the sky and sunk their heels into my skull. Woke up with a head full of pebbles. Couldn't make anything out. Rubbed my eyes so hard the rods and cones all got scrambled. Had dreamed of a man swimming through the ocean and living an adventure he could have done without. It wasn't metaphoric. It'd been raining non- stop for two days and three nights and there was talk of the reservoir overflowing. But then it turned to snow and the mains burst and most of the town is without water and the only way to travel is downhill and flat on your arse. So I took to watching a lot of tv and noted that in Westerns nobody lives long enough to ask why. |
Robin Estill has been publishing
poems in magazines, journals and anthologies for a good many years. His one
collection, technology has never helped us get along, is now unobtainable.
He is preparing a second collection, Heavy Sausage, Bread and Roses. |
Front Page Archive Index Previous Page Next Page |
Poem © Robin Estill, 1999 Photograph © Gerald England, 1999 Web design by Gerald England This page last updated: 7th November 2002. |