Heart Lag
Back at my desk down under
the monitor advances
retires, advances
hemispheres separated
by tin-foil trays
hot white washcloths
and please return
to your seat fasten your heartstrings
decide where your home is
heart is. The captain apologises
for the turbulence as my office door
edges open. She’s wearing her purple
dressing- gown and slippers.
Her hands tremble with gifts.
Wedges of orange, a cup of Suki tea.
He’d Be in Heaven
In the marquee I kneel on dew-soaked
grass and hope the guy ropes of my heart
hold while I listen to this waterfall
of music flowing from harp strings
and a voice that ripples like liquid
crystal in the canvas dome. A cascade
of ballads that takes me back
to my father, after Sunday Mass singing
hand on heart I’ll take you home Kathleen.
I wait in limbo for him to magic
my mother’s bashful smile, her hands
behind her back tying her apron.
If he were here now, he’d be in heaven.
Just a Cut and Colour
Back from the basin, cloaked in black
she sips a latte, flicks fabulous frocks
to bubbles of chatter and the purr
of a Parlux. He approaches from behind
his scissor holster hanging low on his hips
smiles-same as last time? He straddles
the saddle stool, circles her slowly
slicing fingerfuls of freshly coloured hair
gives her back the body she wants.
He nibbles next her earlobes, presses her
head firmly forward and shaves the nape
of her neck, stretches strands
seeking symmetry. He unclips her cloak
sweeps her bare throat. Holds the moon
mirror firm. At the desk she says yes
six weeks, just a cut and colour
then opensher arms as he holds
the shoulders of her winter coat.
