Almanac Poetry: ‘Wine Belly’ – Tommy Mallet





Wine Belly


A day’s work gone without grub,

the neighbour’s wine doesn’t look right in my muddy paw,

but here it is,


filling my skull,

gone, then replaced with more.


Eventually, “All men are liars!” I say, for no other reason

than parting noise,


staggering out into the now dark,

where it’s somewhere between -3 or -10,


falling sideways across the mountain,

frozen grass and wallaby shit

crunching underfoot,

everything lit silver by a tight-arsed winter moon.


“Spare me some warmth,” I croon, but it

won’t buy in.

The world is so still, a photo of night,

save for me,

still far from home,


fumbling through a clearing, shouting obscenities

that echo, both loud and soft,

down through gullies everywhere,

into cliffs,

unmoving trees,

back to me, multiplied,

until I’m a momentary army, of

swear words and love,

agreeing with myself

about enormity


and causes without cause.



More from Tommy Mallet  HERE



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  1. Yes, Tommy. Yes.

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