“Nothing to forgive, Sydney, nothing.”

Over-stretched - the Black Moon Rises
cruelly on the slicker sea,
a hole in iron,
through which the war

has come to us
for rain and food
to keep alive;

for many things
from us who hate her
yet supply the steel

through turning hard
against the view
of burns and scars,

our riots hidden
in the wrinkled cortex
and hypocrisy.