Kent MacCarter is a writer and resident in Melbourne, where he lives with his wife, two cats and one child (expected birth date 4 April 2011). His poetry and a smattering of non-fiction has appeared in anthologies, journals and newspapers internationally. He is currently involved on the board of SPUNC: The Small Press Network and is also an active member in Melbourne PEN.
Present in Makarora Valley
Remorseful a roadside lamb
bleats pointier than the razor wire
strung to keep it stock, not traffic
The fabric-winged crop-duster
zips four-hundred fanfare bucks
off the grassy goat-mowed runway
a red windsock dangles expectantly near
like a cattle-dog’s exhausted tongue
co-piloting further search for drink
Teen hoons careen in mum’s sedan
Pickled exhales shift their gears
a stones-throw to a neighbour’s
place and into song. Red deer clop on damp top pasture
their character development
poises well-composed behind strategic pines
Steeling in from a vanishing point
a lone Thai man like a country highway stoat
slaloms the dotted centre-line
and through a claim he’s pedalled the vast calligraphy
in from Dunedin on a ten-speed
he motions us to photograph. Twice. 10pm an atoll
re-gifts Christmas alchemy into this valley
we madly row to reach its trumpet belts of twilight
ricocheting huge above the local ungulates
A stray wash-machine sweats out its ferrous rot
in weeds. To life it whirs and fills with infant light
