“My Surrounds” by John Grey


Dawn, lumberjacks are aching
to chain-saw a stand of trees.
Down at the docks,
fishermen already dressed for the damp,
unloosen their boats from the jetty.
Hunter’s up early, rifle in hand,
following tracks or stalking a blur of brown.
Nature’s like an early morning person.
It often happens just as the sun shows up.
I rise later to what sounds
like giant bees buzzing
or the kick of motors
as they split the watery surface
or the crack of a gun.
I went to bed with
the howl of a coyote,
the lapping of waters,
the rustle of an oak.
And I woke up alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions, and the anthology No Achilles, with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review, and Nebo.