Long Haul Body
I gather godwit titbits. Forage the flat screen.
Screeds of words cluster like footprints,
a dense map.
When you interval train you have to really rest
so your heartbeat lowers. You have to
run hard enough that you earn the rest.
Bar-tailed godwits use their time down under
to stock up on fat, molt worn feathers
and rest. They are fond of mince tarts,
I will never run a marathon. I find
running hard. It keeps intruding
on my poems, as dull as a dream.
toasted sandwiches with Christmas ham
and cherries. Godwits are juvenile until July.
Some are out drinking late
‘Run heavy’ the trainer at my gym
says, ‘don’t worry about your shoes
your form, whatever. Just run.’
and messing about with all kinds of other birds.
Some of them get their drinks spiked.
The young godwits sometimes become depressed
The 5K run from my house takes
me over the railway line where
dormant trains slump between
and return to the mud flats their parents told them about.
They find worms there and other sustenance
and reluctantly admit their parents were right.
West Footscray and Tottenham.
I listen to podcasts so I can’t hear
my own breath.
Godwits are not ashamed of their fattened-up bodies.
They are in for the long haul and have no time
for skinny-Tok concepts of beauty.
I don’t monitor my heart rate. I don’t
know what Zone 2 effort is. I wear
a cap to secure my head.
There are three collective nouns for bar-tailed
godwits, the internet shouts:
an omniscience, a pantheon,
The day I fall glorious, spread-eagled
across Geelong Road, I carry my bloodied
arm home raised like a wing.
a prayer. They are not
scientific. Some guy online says
they were made up by shooters
Nobody stopped to help, asked
from their car if I was okay.
I hobbled, teary, the long walk home.
as decoy words to let their
shooter friends know when
godwits are near.
Wound care is diligent. After weeks
a sharp pain persists. It might be
glass or gravel, says the nurse.
Nobody is shooting godwits
in Australia.
We just wouldn’t do that.
She gives me magnoplasm,
a paste to draw out whatever
foreign thing is stuck under my skin.
This year bird watchers in Australia
are anxious. Will shorebirds bring avian flu?
So far none has been detected.
These repetitive actions, putting our
bodies under strain, our instinct
to prolong, to survive.
Most birds leaving Victoria
on a northward migration will
fly direct to Asia, nonstop for six days.
We make no sense
our fattened hopefulness
our pulling away, towards, away.
