Paul Hardacre
Pugilistic Attitude
New Poems From Australia
 
 

this afternoon watched  the  dead rise from the
waters  of  the  ganges &   claw  their  way up
shivala  ghat   the  baby  child  the  sadhu   the
pregnant  the  small pox the  cobra  the bite all
this  bound in cloth  &  heavy stone  throw   in
river.  next: cremation  ground unhinged tantric
mumbling  sanskrit  in   black   cotton  pyjama
suit a cloak  of  moths  kiss  my  right hand  as
rancid  dogs  with bitch-tits  form  an   orderly
queue for  counsel   at  his  bony  feet   buffalo
children  play  cricket  fly  kites  from rooftops
sell    chocolates    postcards   handshakes    a
boatman   questions  me  about  disco  &     of
whisky in  australia tells  me ‘the man  chest  &
woman hips never all burn.’