The hip-bone · D.S. Maolalai

the boats came in
and went again. he concentrated,
ignoring them. he was on his own, scraping
things up with some bacon for crab-bait; a minor violence
done against the shore. the dock
was stone and bone, sneaking weeds
and ages – the guts of mountains
all dragged out. and walking on the beach
afterward, he found a horse's
hip; life drained
with salt and sunshine
until it might as well be wood. he shouldered
his equipment and hooked the crab-bucket
in under his elbow, then picked it up
and threw it at the dunes
for the dog.
oh, yes – there was a dog there.
and he walked on, feeling his feet
shift the sand to new places, the weight set on his hip
making his gait a limp. ahead, the dog strutted onwards,
carried its object proudly, flipping its head
like it had just killed a rabbit
and growling
and growling
and growling.

DS Maolalai has been nominated twice for Best of the Web and twice for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019)