Out of the Way

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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.

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God’s Little Acre

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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?

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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.