BLURRED LINES
Sunshine in Jake’s world
slips through curtain gaps
in oblong splashes of gold,
bouncing off toys on the shelf,
organised smallest to the front.
On the blue rug
between two red diamonds
Jake is singing, spider-legs crossed
lining up matchbox cars
with fingers
that will never play piano
or finesse a flute.
Beyond the square window
kookaburras are laughing —
it’s the birds always the birds.
The clangour,
and swooping shadows
leave him shaking,
screaming
until the acute angles
of his ordered world
are secure.
THE PENDULUM
his spider-legs pump
through blue morning grind
the rattle and clunk
of the chain-link beat
tawny curls
twirl and flop
this oarsman paddling
seas of sky
whooping
and swooping
he tracks the day moon
navigating time
all day long
the sting of his father’s hand
his mother’s tears
play over and over
the pendulum swings
