The Cornucopia (poem)

The fear of twenty-nineteen
Could fill a cornucopia
And the stink of smoke and sacrilege
For Nigel’s new dystopia
Is spilling out from Kirribilli’s
Windows: New-Year’s Eve
Has nothing; no potential
For hope in this display of fire
Mingled among
The illegible stars.

But here we are, nonetheless
This red dawn of New Year:
The future menaces forward
Relentlessly unfolding
Like a headless snake at our feet
And we see
Face to face, for the first time,
That this thing; this superstition
Rushing towards us in the black of night
Has come
And we cannot control it
Our disfigured nation
Burning us
Until we are the ones afraid
Huddled on the boats
Beneath a wrathful red sky.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s