That fire, they said, was red as red as red
as red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;
that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,
faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;

At swimming once,
I went to turn from front to back
and just kept turning,
just kept turning,
turning over,
over and over,
till the swimming teacher said,

Now we're up on the edge

and over, on the mountain

with mountains beyond. Behind us,

            in the dark

of the valley, villages are embers

Your mother made me

write this

just in case, she said,

which kinda freaked me out,

so I said to her,

Da Man is fine, babe.

'Why do you run?' I asked the river,
'So fast I can't compete.'
'I run,' the river said, 'because
I have some streams to meet.'

When they were young,
She kept wicket for her brothers,
They batted,
Bowled,
Padded up
And ratcheted up the score.
She crouched behind the stumps

The living room remembers Gran dancing to Count Bessie.
The kitchen can still hear my aunts fighting on Christmas Day.
The hall is worried about the loose banister.

Newly baked and fresh today
Eat while hot or take away.

My love is like a well-read book
which makes me smile each time I look.
It shouts and whispers, roars and sings
it grounds me and it gives me wings.

A poem is not an Ant
but it can be quite short.
A poem is not a Banana
but there may be something under its skin.
A poem is not a Coat