deep south 2013
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dsj poetry
petrichor/soak
The rain came down.
I sat on the doorstep,
eating tinned peaches,
and the rain fell.
Walking out, into the city,
life falls in one-two beats;
being nothing and comfortable,
the architecture stows straight lips,
moves on, the rain falls.
Freight rolls, wet tracks northbound,
over-bridges exuding fine china,
two fishermen idle away remaining hours;
concrete bunches the rain into shallows.
How hollow: the sea, that home,
the crooked lines of the inland peninsula;
how strange, this routine, in
how so very full of emptiness I have become,
like the rain, having fallen upon ebbing tides.
The rain no longer falls.
Tomcat McCone, originally from Wellington, currently resides in Dunedin, living out the aliases of a student of Mathematics, an ambivalent musician, and a somewhat emotional writer, from time to time. He likes cats, sleep and feeling sad.
