Our lizard-crested jaws lose their bite
as September grinds them down, jowls
droop and our heads hang fossil-heavy.
Our leaves shrivel from curved talons
to bent claws, petals’ fiery assurance
fades as they drop like sloughed scales.
Our jeweled hoard is fools’ gold melted
by the sun. Our burning breath
gutters into drifting smoke blown out
Kate Meyer-Currey moved to Devon in 1973: a varied career in frontline settings has fuelled her interest in gritty urbanism, contrasted with a rural upbringing, while her ADHD instills a sense of ‘other’ in her writing. She has over fifty poems published: her first chapbook, County Lines (Dancing Girl Press), comes out this Autumn, and the second, Cuckoo’s Nest (Contraband Books), is due out in February 2022.
Image Credit: Snapdragons [wallpaperflare.com] superimposed with flying dragon [SeekPng.com]