Owen Bullock


She’s put up an umbrella, he can write in the shade.

He could walk the three miles home at two in the morning and no one minded.

                                             a girl through the supermarket reads Roald Dahl

He lives inside his woman’s beauty. It moves on him like giant blue marshmallows with the texture of cushions.

                                             when he gets to work the end of the rainbow

fashion and melodrama

tea and china
speak with an accent

ringlets hark
on Humboldt traffic

upraised hands
pencil conclusions

there’s peat in the bog

voices together
sever right

wrong is turned
for the barbecue

plangent chords
are Edwardian nights

anticipating but not

the elegance
of the stockinged leg

curses forestall

there’s a receptacle
for spit

Owen Bullock has published a collection of poetry, sometimes the sky isn’t big enough, two books of haiku and a novella. He has edited a number of journals and anthologies, including Poetry NZ, and taught students of all ages. Owen is a PhD candidate at the University of Canberra.
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