‘Kintyre’ a poem 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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