Mammoths

In the summer we chained the caravan to concrete blocks
to stop it being thrown down the muddy cliffs
in the once-a-winter storm.

When that storm started gravel waves bashed the door
the chains yanked tight and threw us
screaming from our beds.

Your twisted body soaked up the surf that had slipped
under the door as you apologized
for being a rubbish dad—

you wished we could have moved inland but the harder
you worked the poorer we seemed to get.
When the storm blew so hard

it stopped we walked to the beach, to the barricades of trash
and found a mammoth’s smashed skull
and a shattered tusk. You told me that under that filthy sea were open plains where,
as the waters rose, great herds waded
to the muddy cliffs,
our shore.

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