SPRING CLEANING

Her launchpad was the inner circle
of the carefully laid out patio, designed to look like a snail
It reminded her of when he commented on her love juice once and


called it snail slime
Her mind went elsewhere then and stayed there

She dressed for maximum effect:
Two layers of scratchy lace crutchless artless black and red
Knickers and Bras for that Special Occasion
A quilted dressing gown with matching cosy slippers from


family who imagined she must be colder now she was
Older.
Tied around her belt she added her armoury of rotary whisk, can opener, potato peeler, lemon
zester, melon baller, cheese slice, egg separator, Parmesan knife, measuring spoon set, sieve,
three sizes of crinkled pastry cutters, dolphin shaped bottle opener, slotted spoon and easy use


corkscrew.
She spiked her hair with wooden and metal meat skewers and imagined herself for a few


seconds as the geisha girl in a Japanese paper walled tea house and let the tears roll
tramlines down her perfectly smooth porcelain white face because she knew just one of her
uncultured, awkward steps would destroy the mirroring she had performed in front of her Views of Tokyo calendar, February Beauty.

She stepped out into the morning trailing all the wires she could


find and went to her spot.

To the right over the fence, next door's hideous Paisley Swirl (gold/pale gold) sheets and pillow
cases flapped at the pigeon, blackbird, robin, sparrow, whatever
To the left over the fence, next door's covered patio umbrella, covered chairs, covered table,
covered 3-position recliners, covered pot bellied chimney barbecue thing, covers all the same
colour as the unused grass. No kids.

Dish brush between her teeth, she stood looking skyward.
Grey clouds passed.
During a gap of pale blue, her yellow rubber gloved finger flicked the switch.

They found her under the oak tree.

Pets whined indoors for days.
Windows got cleaned.
Gardens were traumatised.
Neighbours said they knew what they didn't know.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

What beauty in this gentle decay
This life, left unattended in the dark
Juices exuded, wasted, flowing away
Its own sorrow grown on
To comfort the startling rot within
This is to be marvelled at
It could have been consumed
With no knowledge that it was still living
And now, beyond eating,
It still lives
In all its dying moments

POSSESSION

She undressed it from everything it came with.
It was a deliberate act of undoing.
It was a preferred method of unravelling.
It was a particular style of pulling and twisting.
It was a compulsive need to check everything out.

She put everything back on.
It was not the same as before.
Something was minutely adrift.
Something was torn.
Something was missing.

But now it was hers.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

What beauty in this gentle decay
This life, left unattended in the dark
Juices exuded, wasted, flowing away
Its own sorrow grown on
To comfort the startling rot within
This is to be marvelled at
It could have been consumed
With no knowledge that it was still living
And now, beyond eating,
It still lives
In all its dying moments

PRE DAWN BLUES

Well I woke up this morning
Before a bird had opened one eye
Yes, I woke up this morning
Before a bird had opened one eye
The street was still asleep outside
But inside I started to cry
I got the late night, pre dawn blues

I reached over to the table
To find my picture of you
I reached over to the table
To hold and look at that picture of you
The street was still asleep outside
But I knew what I had to do
I got the late night, pre dawn blues

I could hear your number ringing
And your footsteps loud in my head
I could hear your telephone singing
And your footsteps loud in my head
You were walking down the street outside
And I lay waiting in my bed

But it was not your number ringing
It was the crazy birds asinging
I got the late night, pre dawn blues

Yeah

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