Art Brut
Such exquisite machines
Not carried off in containers but marched
Across the dock into trucks, yes, two by two,
Hundreds of them, beautiful
Bald machines
Dressed up in war costumes.
Quiet, quiet, all the wharfies
Stopped to watch,
Bootsoles on concrete, the hot, glittering day,
And one by one like a length
Carefully divided –
Pap pap pap
Pap pap – rifle fire
High up across the river
In rows of pine trees, and on the dock
Exquisite heads erupting.
