ONE MAN’S CLICHÉ …
There was a straw basket on mother’s head
When we locked the one-hinged gate.
A chattering twin dangled off each arm
And the baby kept her back straight.
I came last, holding the water instead
Of old Bhaloo who kept me warm.
The twins are now echoes in rustling trees
And mother’s back stoops unhindered;
But I still have to hold this bottle so
To stop this top – it was splintered
When the laughing men knocked me to my knees –
From letting out our last swallow.
I must save it from the sand. On we go
Like ill-skipped stones, lurching and slow,
That take forever, twist, turn and shiver;
And never do cross the r