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Contents Page: July 1, 2011, vol 7 no 2

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John McDonald



It was to be a poem with a banjo in it;
a knocked-over barrel of apples of a poem;
a New Orleans rag from 'Auld Reekie';
but, all I could remember of your banjo
was the wall it hung on: black – a mural of Belsen:
skeletons shimmering,
like uncanny constellations;
and I wondered if it's still there,
hale, and lurking below layers of wallpaper;
a comfortable Constable;
and a flight of ducks.
Still there,
shimmering yet,
that flight path of madness.

the tune lingers -
the stretched skin

note: Auld Reekie  –  ancient name for Edinburgh


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