Poetry

Les Murray: The Solstice Vote

The Solstice Vote   In June, the Northern hemisphere lies around in gardens, crust of rotting gold.   Beetroot, garlic and watermelon are sovereign for blood pressure, it’s said, though after April   melon tastes like floodwater in my latitudes. Little of khaki blows   out from under Chinese elm or ash or pistachio or maple: pin-oak keeps its brown leathers till spring.   The British are having a referendum this solstice to stay half in Europe or half out—   Late, late. Better they’d stayed out in 1914. Splintered washboards of cold   are nailed across our sky. Perfect…

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