New Year - poem

New Year The midnight moment – we have no wolves to howl the moon but the drab morepork crying with economical greed half its cry, ‘Pork Pork Pork!’ This last night of December the swollen moon-yolk approaches nearer the earth, may drop a bright younker fuming with feather, or, infertile, may waste or break or spill over frying itself across the hotplate of January sky. Janet Frame from The Pocket Mirror, 1967