Tuesday, 6 July 2010
Tuesday poem 'can't tell the birds from the blossoms' ...
She says from the back seat of the car,
“Excuse me, I’m talking.”
“Sorry hon’,” her mother says.
She remains unimpressed.
“Mum when you say sorry,
you say it in an unremarkable voice.”
At the beach her mother and I watch
the waves tirelessly form, undo,
do up again. She teams up
with another little girl
to build channels in the sand.
Her mother and I talk of this and that.
A woman stops, asks
if we have the correct time.
After she’s gone, we both laugh
at how tempting it would be to say,
“No, sorry, just the incorrect.”
on the way back to the car
as she hops in bare feet
along rough asphalt. She shivers
with the cold. Her Mum says,
“Sit in the front seat, hon”.
I turn the heater on full blast
and all the way home she tells us a story
she makes up as she goes along
about a terrible monster and a girl
called Georgia. A monster with
‘great big eyebrows, spaghetti fingers
and sloppy green eyes’.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
This is a poem about my granddaughter when she was quite a bit younger than she is now.
The title has borrowed a line from the song 'Green Grass' by Tom Waits, released 2004, the year in which this poem is set.
The photo is of the esplanade at St Clair, Dunedin.
I am bad - I keep forgetting to post a link to the other poems on Tuesday Poem. Please go here and be wowed by some amazing poetry.