Out of the Way


We’re outside out of the way on a 38 degree Celsius day playing Scrabble under the pergola, quietly sweating. The cleaners are inside with the aircon on full bore, the rooms a steady 20 degrees. I open the back door, poke my head through: “Would you like a gin and tonic?” I say, half in jest, ” the cricket on in the background?” “Yes,” they nod in approval, “that’d be great.” Hired help sure have it good in this country.


God’s Little Acre


Should I go or should I not?

Too early? Is it sufficiently hot?

Summer’s only five days in.

Should I hit the water? Swim?

Bugger it, I say. Yes! Yes! Yes!

The ocean’s cool and I am blessed.

God’s little acre. At the end of our street.

Me and two others. The beach.

Does She Remember?


Does she remember?

When she snapped the mouse

In her jaw and dismembered it

One hour ago.

Does she remember?


Does she remember?

Does she understand

When I sweep her off my lap

When she nips my hand,

The hand that feeds her?

Does she understand?


Ahh, She’s only a cat.

You make allowances for that.