Warrior Princess

The Warrior Princess

You shouldn’t have done that, I say,

flushed the wee down the toilet.

Sorry, she says. I didn’t know.

It is one in the morning.

I can’t sleep, I say.

No wonder, she replies.

There’s too much light in the room.

But I’m claustrophobic, I say.

But it’s keeping you awake, she says,

drawing the curtains.

Sometimes you have to ride through your fear.

Get to the other side.

What’s your name? I ask.

Zena. I’m your nurse for tonight.

It’s a lovely name, I say. Xena, the warrior princess.

She smiles.

She’s Greek. I’m Filipino. Besides my name

starts with a Z.

Goodnight, John. Remember what I said.

I will. I’ll try.

I sleep for four bountiful hours.

I wake up at 4.38, bounce out of bed,

write three poems, including this one.

To me, she is still Xena, warrior princess.

• pic courtesy of pinterest

Is This How it Happens

Is This How it Happens?

He drove down to the Tobacconist to buy her some cigs.

There was someone new there today.

Yes? he was asked.

That’s when it happened.

20, 20 …..It’ll come to me in a minute.

But it didn’t.

He had forgotten the mantra. The words that come one after the other. He had forgotten the first word. If he knew that, the rest would come.

He had to drive back home and ask.

What an idiot, he thought.

It wasn’t as bad as forgetting the groceries in the shopping trolley then driving off without them.

That was ten years ago.

But it wasn’t good.

She told him.

Then he drove back and said it: 20 Classic Gold Signature, thanks, Red.

It felt good like rattling off a formula for the chemistry teacher in Year 12.  Or a soliloquy from Hamlet.

He was on top of things again.

This Time

This Time

I went back to the airport. This time I would do it. This time I would push on through.

The first part was easy, driving to the Drop Off point but once you got there, you had to keep on going. That was the tricky part. That’s where I messed up.

That time, the time I dropped my daughter off, I continued through , swinging around the roundabout but that’s where it got confusing, arrows pointing in all directions, a jumble of signs and always someone up your ass pushing you to speed up, for god’s sake.

That’s when it happened. A dark, chunky , sinister sedan pulled me over. It had AFP on the side. Australian Federal Police. An officer got out, walked up to my side window and tapped on it. I was packing it. What had I done? or more importantly what did he believe I had done. This was the age of terrorism. But did I look like a terrorist?

He questioned me briefly, took my license and walked back to his car. That’s when he got talking to someone. I assumed they were doing a police check on me, on the vehicle. All the time I could see him in the rear view watching me.

Finally he sauntered up to me, handed the licence back, and said I was free to go this time, but to be careful where I drove. What the hell did that mean? Where had I wandered?

That’s when I got the fear of driving to the airport to drop someone off or pick someone up.

But this time I did it. I made it all the way. History did not repeat itself. Woo Hoo !

Peek

Peek

The last thing I do at night

before hitting the sack

is taking a peek,

and the first thing I do in the morning

after getting up

is to sneak another peek.;

the laptop is left on

so I can see at a glance

how many comments I’ve collected

since I last looked;

sometimes I go away with a full tummy,

other times I leave anxious,

afraid I failed to hit the mark,

the old lead balloon syndrome.

I know it’s unhealthy,

it’s not all about numbers

but it’s the performer in me—

you like to hear the applause,

& read the critics in the morning

• pic courtesy of pinterest

The World is a Cat

*

The world is a cat.

It knocks things over

that should be left standing.

It turns on you with tooth and claw

even when you are affectionate

towards it.

It draws blood,

pounces with unbridled savagery

on the weak and defenceless.

It has no shame, remorse.

When have you seen it

hang its head?

Yet, the world can surprise you

with sudden turns of affection

as it rubs against you

and purrs.

• pic courtesy of pinterest

Flinch

Something the photographer said about animals.

We are much more unpredictable to them

than they are to us.

We could shoot them, pet them,

kick them up the butt, out the door.

Perhaps that’s why this rescue cat eyes me

suspiciously,

sleeps with one eye open

flinches when another male approaches.

The Mark of the Beast

Today I have the mark of the beast upon me.

It came up overnight,

It cannot be hidden except by a mask

But when I take it off, to eat, to explain a matter,

to simply breather easier, friends,

people recoil at the angry red rash

that runs from the tip of my nose to upper lip,

like birds before a predator.

I cannot shave so look doubly abhorrent.

I am only grateful for covid where a face mask

can be worn without question.

It is my close companion, my Linus blanket.

Parable of the Breathing Tube

“You won’t even know it’s there,” said the surgeon.

          “My brother-in-law sure did,” I replied referring to the incident in the ICU which I witnessed.

          AS he was coming out of his sleep, he became aware of the tube down his throat and began struggling with it so violently that he had to be held down by three nurses while he was put into an induced coma. He stayed that way for three days.

          “You won’t even be aware of it,” the surgeon said, “and if you are you won’t remember.”

          I decided to go with that. In the end you have to put your faith in something.

          Still, some days later as I was wheeled into the operating theatre, the last conscious thought was of that tube down my throat.

          Many hours later as I slowly awoke, I remember the doctor saying, “the breathing tube is out now, you can speak.”

          “What breathing tube?” I asked.

          The thing is, if you don’t know something has happened to you, has it really happened?

Last Night was Brutal

Last night was brutal.

We fought like Godzilla vs Kong.

Boxers slugging it out in the ring.

Cage fighters gouging and kicking.

Oooops. Is that an eyeball in my hand?

We were earnest. Furious.

Mean as gorillas. Cut-throat as pirates.

In the end we smoked the peacepipe.

What was that all about? she asked..

I don’t know, I said.

Look, next time, can we please agree what we’re fighting about?

• pic courtesy of maxsportstz.blogspot.com

Feathers

I don’t feel like meat tonight.

Red or white.

Perhaps bananas and ice cream

Though I remember what my son once said about ice cream,

How it’s made from the feathers of birds.

I’ve never felt right about it since.

I’m afraid to look it up in case it’s true

And I’ll feel even worse.

But ice cream feels right.

It’s a hot evening. I’ve had eggs and bacon for lunch

So something soft seems just the ticket..

I just wish I never heard that about ice cream,

That the thought would just grow wings and fly away.

pic courtesy of Pinterest by ehow.com