When figs fly

The weight of the heat measures itself against the afternoon light
making them Rupert Bunny languid across cane chairs on the verandah
in the unconvincing shade
It’d better be a record. I don’t mind suffering if it’s a record
she fans herself with The Age, limp like everything else

His cracker curls into a tube and he puts it back on the plate
G&T? Sun above the yardarm and all that?
They sit there as if some servant will materialize from the mirage of heat
The dog cocks his head on movement up the back
where the pumpkins take shelter under their self-made umbrellas

Orange, lemon, apple, fig – an orchard of sorts against the fence line
rustles as they take off from the shade
A flock of figs she sighs, look flying figs
And there they go, hard brown bodies and fidgety wings
I’ll get that drink he murmurs as the sparrows resettle



A drowsing cat of a day

It’s a drowsing cat of a day
pockets of sunlight are furred with stretched felines
comatose, eyes unblinking
Every step is pushed through honey light
Every thought unfinished

This walk a month ago was all the saddest things in the world
Chinese paper lanterns the morning after the rain
a pregnancy kit abandoned in the laneway by the high school
flowers tied to the lamppost under a handwritten RIP
Every thought caught in the cracks in the pavement

Now there’s no more frost
just a lump in the throat
The crows add their disdain in waves till the last note
and the plane trees have knuckles at the end of each branch
Any day soon they’ll hit out at spring and burst into leaf



Arts practice

Because windows
are so much like frames
I have to look in
to see how the world
is representing itself today

poet's biography —>