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on Queens Island

 

on Queens island - nothing ever lasts

and cracks appear between the bricks
 

almost

before your eyes and here

and there the rippled water spreads

across the broken tarmac . Here a wall

with turrets and a village burned

by reptiles that were never there .

The brambles straggle , harsh and grey .

The ragwort’s mirrored in the pond .

The coastal storm has landed yesterday

and spring comes late this time of year

 

in salty air - the concrete slips

and slipways sag and roots burst budding through

the ghost

of terrazzo paving , leaving bare

the village that was never there 

and over them - the giants stride - three legged , yellow , tall and wide ,

with letters and an

ampersand . This cafe's shut

and so is that - as is refurbished Caroline

She’s locked - a lack of visitors perhaps

this island’s built on sand and mud

and spring comes late this time of year .

Most