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published in qarrtsiluni, Jul–Aug 2006




Straight talking,

that was what

was needed, so

you said. And


you smiled a thin

and final line,

and you turned,

as they say,


on your heel,

on a sixpence,

and you strode,

straight-limbed, along


the coastal path,

direct, unswerving,

to the jetty, walked

its slick rectangle


to where the ferry

tugged its moorings.

Just in time:

the straining lines


released, the cables

stowed, the ferry

drove a silver

track, straight as


a rail, towards

a flat horizon. And,

as I watched

unmoving, you


slipped at last

around the slow

unyielding curve

of the world.


Dick Jones


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