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This poem is taken from PN Review 203, Volume 38 Number 3, January - February 2012.

From The Lifeguard Ian Wedde
1

You have to start somewhere
in these morose times,

a clearing in the forest, say,
filled with golden shafts of sunlight

and skirmishes. A little later
your itinerary will take you past

weathered churches on plains that stretch
as far as the eye can see.

Their horizons elude you,
not just because the earth is circular

like the argument you can't bite off
and spit out, but also

because of your restless
dissatisfaction with a status quo that,

more and more, reminds you
of everything you've been at pains

to forget. 'Return all that stuff you borrowed
when my better nature
...


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