'perpetually on the brink'
The Cullen Skink
by Diana Hendry
If the temperature's right
you might see him out
in a very fine suit
of the best bravado,
but skinking with caution
for his eyesight's poor
and he's all out of proportion.
Unshelled, in the buff,
his raw-pink skin
is prone to shrinkage
which is why he lets no-one in
and lives far north, alone
in a nest of coddled mementoes
kept on simmer. Some say
it's the Cullen Skink's nature
to shiver and be perpetually
on the brink of some great thought
he never delivers.
He likes to drink.
He likes to look at the moon.
at night you can hear the clink
as he walks the jetty
trailing a kind of umbilical cord,
the dried-up remnants
of wings, fur, paws.
as read in One Hundred and One Favourite Poems: Poets pick their favourite poems
chosen by John Foster.
by Diana Hendry
If the temperature's right
you might see him out
in a very fine suit
of the best bravado,
but skinking with caution
for his eyesight's poor
and he's all out of proportion.
Unshelled, in the buff,
his raw-pink skin
is prone to shrinkage
which is why he lets no-one in
and lives far north, alone
in a nest of coddled mementoes
kept on simmer. Some say
it's the Cullen Skink's nature
to shiver and be perpetually
on the brink of some great thought
he never delivers.
He likes to drink.
He likes to look at the moon.
at night you can hear the clink
as he walks the jetty
trailing a kind of umbilical cord,
the dried-up remnants
of wings, fur, paws.
as read in One Hundred and One Favourite Poems: Poets pick their favourite poems
chosen by John Foster.