Carol Laidler and Pat Jamieson

The sky’s the Limit
Endless holidays at the last Resort
against the
lives of others
It’s the time for sucking out the Septic tank

There is no lifeguard.
Please avoid landing to the left of this sign
When the tide reaches
the colour topped post to your left
important bird flocks will be roosting ahead
Please do not attempt
to cross the fence
or proceed beyond this point

The hide smells
of wood
and creosote
and chalk dust
slits towards the salt marsh
smeared with cobwebs
in this protected place
this disputed territory
we sit looking out
armed with our
Sun pierces
in shafts
against the stained
bullet holes spill light
scratch the dark
Here we two hide

We are here claiming sanctuary
from the elements
in the discomfort of our privilege
as the clock ticks
and our shell-like ears
for the next

This is where we are in history
poised inhabiting
the hiatus
between explosions
in a shooting gallery
holding our breath