Look at those boats of bone in rivers
last night their eyes were lighthouses
shining blue and brown lights in natural darkness.
Look at that shape crumpled like rags
the pinafore spoke what sex it was
she died with a green tomato punctured on red lips.
Look at her crucifix smelted to her skin,
her lifelines blew in the fahrenheit wind
three children it read with a long and healthy life.
Look at all these unripe tomatoes in mouths,
they died the moment they sucked the juice,
made another mountain on school playgrounds.
Pic Claire Palmer