Fortnightly Poem 16.A (Featured)

I’ve picked a complimentary poem about feasting in Carole Jenkins’ June, off Broke Road, the winery It is from her chapbook Alchemies of Poetry and Wine one of the Gininnderra Pocket Poets series.

Day One Carole Jenkins

Broke road, bar-coded by sapling, sapling, sapling
a running argument, that with each returning curve
seems more familiar, while winery shingles, hinging

on the verge, shout choose me, me, me.
Then the sound of gravel complaining of the tyres
and vice versa. We Arrive

A few new green shoots, mistaking temperature
for time of years, waving, gaily waiting
for the secateurs. The trees are all on nodding terms

with each other and ourselves. the olive lunch crowd
mix the peplum-esque with boots, boots, boots.
Strato-cumulus roll in from the East.

Athena, goddess of Olive oil, sees them off. A long table
marches on near five hundred legs, staying
where it is, in the groove of clinking glasses, effervescent

banter and chitterage; a hiatus where hats are found
for the hatless The afternoon warms us in its lap.
Cool green puddles are wiped away with bread and fish.

One long Elysian moment, then there is nothing but
empty chairs,
napkins, lip-synced empty glasses, the light a liquid
amber contracting
to the west. We pivot between being and remembering.

Walking back to digs, a wild coterie of kids, a circle of
legs that dance
a hop, and twitch and lurch, hurl a pagan chant back
at the sunset chorus that rails against the fadingof
the light.