‘Kintyre’ a poem by by Carol McKay

Kintyre

 

In Kintyre, geology

looks civilised.

Tablecloth corners

drape its flat, ridged hills.

 

Walls of water shatter

as the tide presses.

Car air vents usher in

the tang of the sea.

 

Swallows are the commonest bird,

fast jets over low land,

flicking and yawing

all along this green road.

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