By Lindsay McLeod
If I am to labour without purpose
now that the gold is long gone
it might be best to stop the search
for meaning and just get on with it
find what is left to do abandoned
to the seasons without so much as
the memory of a goodbye. If I really
was put together from blood and
mud and the ghost of a God, only to
replace a spent worker, perhaps
I should stain the windows, lick the
pattern from the plates and just go.
—
Lindsay McLeod lives down the Port in South Australia where he is driven by his cattle dog, Mary. His most recently published work can be found in EPHEMERAL ELEGIES, THE HUMAN WRITERS, TIPTON POETRY, SNAKESKIN and OTHER TERRAIN. Currently, Lindsay is said to be considering a life of crime to support his poetry habit.