Poems

My Father Flies

 

in on Friday out
on Sunday
he has hospital
on Wednesday
so he’ll meet the tradesman
and mow the lawn
on Thursday
providing
they’ll let him out
(they will)

My father flies
in on Friday
he will
fill the fridge
plan the meals
check the mail
pay the bills

Mum says rest!
and my father flies
off the handle
he has
done his tax
booked his seat
bought the milk for Grandma
charged the battery in Mum’s car
while
we’ve been asleep

He is so close to

retiring

After he has
tanked-up
we will
go out for lunch
we will
have an ice-cream
and look at the sea

they will
cut his hair
they will
clean his skin
they will
plan a meal

My father flies
out on Sunday
he will
give me the eggs
he will
give me the lettuce
he will
give me the tomatoes
they will
all go off

When
he returns
the passionfruit from his tree
will be

on the ground,
waiting

 

Old Bra

you’ve been on my back
for ten years pulling pinching digging

once a bright young thing
purple avocado and lime green stitching
you’d squeeze my breasts for juice

Old bra

you’ve worn my heart and muffled its beat
like a pillow inside a bass drum
caging my ribs and holding my breath
nothing short of elastic
but growing old captive

Now you’re a dead bat hanging over a power line
slowly falling to pieces with holes
in your fabric, a wrinkled embarrassment,
I throw your wings around my shoulders
and take off in a hurry

Old bra

no more swinging off door handles
your bubblegum youth
of pastel cupcakes and polka dot pearls
is faded
your matching panties
long gone

they say you’re wanted
by mature women
in developing
countries
there you are
a basic need

Old bra

you’ve had my back
for ten years stretching
how can I bury you
with vegetable peelings
plastic wrappings and food
drippings?

perhaps
I should burn you after all

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