Still waters run deep, his mum said
What did she know?. He took the plunge anyway
Swept up in its flow.
Emerged twenty years later,
Three kids, a mortgage, wife in tow.
Was it worth it?
Hell, yeh. Wished he could have let her know.
* photo from pexels.com by Gabor Coyamo
I was locked in a cab once
when the driver
to get a can of petrol
& I wanted
to get out.
My hands flew all over the place.
Then the driver when he got back
& showed me
The Magic Button
at the base of the passenger side door handle.
All you had to do was pop it
& Open Sesame!
It’d be good, I thought,
to have a magic button each time
you were locked in
Like a meeting you couldn’t get out of,
A Xmas get together that had turned ugly
a flight that went on far too long
Or a poem you couldn’t find a way out from.
* pic from Wiki-commons
Where’s Uncle Midge? I asked
one sunny afternoon.
He’s off with the fairies again, aunty said
Then quickly changed the topic.
Off with the fairies? How did aunty know?
Did he leave a note saying he’d be back
By so and so a time?
It was hard to imagine Uncle frolicking with the fairies
if that is what
One does when one is ‘off with them’.
He seemed too weighty and substantial for that.
And anyway where was he off to?
Where does one go when one is ‘off with the fairies’?
I looked out the lounge room window out
To the backyard where uncle often used to wander
But there was nothing — only a pair
Of garden gnomes who seemed to be smiling
As if they had seen something.
Speckled with yellow and black light
he focuses on his phone, has he got it right?
Tentatively the fingers tap.
She’s aggressive, he defensive,
She certain, he apprehensive.
They both know what’s coming next
if he misreads another text.
- have you ever sent or received a text that was misinterpreted?
*photo by Eddy Billard on Unsplash
On a road trip the other day
we got talking about birth marks
and how you never see them any more
then at the airport
I saw this barista
with a mulberry stain on his face.
I had to ask him,
is that a real birth mark? I asked
we were talking about them
and how you never see them anymore.
Yes, he smiled
as if it were just another feature
on his face
like a mole or scar.
It looked almost beautiful.
Then he made me the greatest cup of coffee.
Thank you, I said
glad that I had asked him
and didn’t wuss out.
It’s okay to be curious.
is anyone else fascinated by birth marks ?
what would you have done?
I used to like my poems neatly wrapped.
I thought of them as artifacts.
Pristine, well presented, spruce
But now I like them ramshackle, loose,
keen to slouch in seedy places,
tie undone, inquisitive with loose shoe laces.
Once it carried five
and two pets
towards a bright new future
but it was anything but
with a son who rocked
a daughter who kept throwing
and a younger afraid to put
her head out
in the storm
gathering hard above us
but the dove came back telling us
things had eased
a shaft of sunlight spotlighting
our position :
our son had found calm
the elder daughter steadfastness
the younger courage
now it’s just us
my wife and I ,
a pair as God