You scowl, with that wire coat hanger angularity At castoff people, cuffs and elbows askew Hung on racks in rows marked clearance End of line, stock discontinued, as if Evolution had reached a point Where adaptation were, not now impossible But moot, it is the phenotype that, so often Sways the genotype, but now department stores All look, almost exactly the same One day, I suppose they will fuse my spine With robot wires and cyanoacrylate I will lay, by the crooked looming weight Of an old ghost gum, who bent to weep The noon still river, shades all who choose to sleep But may only ever reach in reflection Still, we wait, a long season To weave new lives and baskets When with that swelling, whispered voice The river rushes bloom
