Strangled Poem by Clive Turnbull

Strangled



First I am alive
graze a stranger's hair
and it strangles me.

Winter locks in:
Fishes freeze solid in the lake
like splinters under a nail.

My Persian cat
coughs a fur ball on the snow
and quivers.

Then it happens
the years first taste
of bitter chocolate.

This mouth is not dead.
When the garden greens for Easter
I shall be gone

horse trading at la feria
sucking the last hint of anchovy
from a toothpick.

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