iron grows in supernovas
ten billion light years away a star explodes
its light still out there
building the iron for my car
the dust that built our planet earth
then a cooking pot, a spear, a gun, a railway train
the cans of meat Napoleon took to Moscow
my bike wheels, the brakes, the printing press that prints this poem
the park seat my mother met my father on
the boat that sailed to Anzac Cove, bringing blood and horses
the Rolls Royce of the squatters and Governors-General
the grate of the stove that burnt mallee roots on cold nights
and outside the dogs bark at stars and other things we miss
in scrap yards machines crush the things we’ve made
melt it down in arc furnaces, little stars inside kiln bricks
it’s taken away on ships, to places we haven’t gone
re-making where we come from
About Maurice McNamara
Writing haiku is like wrestling an elephant into a bottle. Have to leave out everything except the oomph. They seem to come floaty. Like footy. Personally, I like them if they’re funny as well. Co-director of the Overload Poetry Festival, held in Melbourne in August. poetmaurice@hotmail.com
