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Dada taught me cards.Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.His big belly like a cannon ball.
Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne beach
as the orange-pink of sunset
plays with the ebbing tide,
my mother asks…
When Harry went awayhe stole a part of Mum.No-one warned us. No-one said.We looked and looked for ages –
I was born with a map of Australia on my face;it was beautiful, my mother told me – there was nobody like me in the whole wide worldwho could trace the edges of down under
Eyes as wide as continents brim wih the water between.
Seeks a different future. Looks back on what has been.
Mouth seeks another language. Shapes a different air.
After the fiftieth insult -
the school bag down the toilet, the stifled
giggle-whisper that hung like a smear on the air -
she suddenly saw
What do we do with a difference?Do we stand and discuss its oddityor do we ignore it?
Do we shut our eyes to itor poke it with a stick?Do we clobber it to death?
Zoe ZoeYou had to goeI felt so sad, I wrote this poe.