Across the country road
the geese stepped out
from one verge
to the other.
Not to scare them I
drove slowly, then stopped
as they stood before me,
staring, their paddle feet
squarely on the road.
Their drover looked at me,
at them, then rolled his
eyes to the sky. Looking
up the road then down
he waved me on around
his feathered goosey charges.
They showed me why
we call a foolish one
a “silly goose”.
In steady light rain
low clouds compress
the light’s dull glare.
The blackbird’s feathers
sparkle under their fine cloak
of minute droplets.
His chuckles and shrieks of glee
from the clothesline pole
fill the garden as he raises
his head, half spreads his wings
in the sensual joy
of tiny moist diamonds.
A modest suburban living room
greets women young and middle
aged as they gather to shop
in comfort for sturdy plastic
containers sold on the party plan.
After a hard day’s work earning
a living, caring for children, they’ve
farewelled those children, the husbands
and grandparents all babysitting
for the evening. Now they relax on
sofa, armchairs and floor as they
view smartly designed containers
in the latest shape and colours
artistically stacked on coffee
tables, occasional tables. In the
corner china, cutlery, cover
the dining table ready for the
supper set out in the kitchen.
Their interest is held by the sales
woman’s samples and brochures,
recipes and anecdotes; their questions
answered promptly, eloquently.
More foods and dishes are discussed
by working women who work for
most of the day wherever they are.
Finally supper, savouries and cakes,
coffee and tea as they question
the saleswoman, fill in order forms.
A comfortable evening, a meeting
of minds who spend their days
working for others but tonight
nurtured themselves while they
shopped for their families.
In my paid employment
days I drove my vehicle
rapidly round town from
home to workplace to
supermarket to mall
to bank to vet with snuffly
rats than home again. Phew !
As I rushed round town
limited to roads – which other
cars used too ! – in front of
me these incidental nuisances
called pedestrians crossed
the road in front of me,
halting me by law ! When
I had so much to do !
As a pedestrian retiree
living simply on my pension
I walk to our shops,
walk around the town when
disembarked from the bus.
Handy pedestrian crossings
aren’t always where I need
to cross the busy roads.
I wait for cars to let
me cross but often wait
in vain. So I step out
briskly through handy
gaps to cross the road.
Cars whiz past me at
supermarket entrances as
I sidestep along the kerb.
On our roads I am
disenfranchised
without a car.
Ancient insect emerged
from the primeval bush
you are caught up in
today’s surge of humanity,
swept into our urban gardens.
Crickets and grasshoppers
from foreign countries
jostle and crowd you
in the gardens where
city birds hunt you,
though wary of
your barbed back legs,
your sharp nipping teeth.
The feline immigrants
who luxuriate in
the comfort of our homes
hunt you in our gardens.
Your brown armour blends into
the branches of hedge and shrub,
your barbed back legs grip twigs
as you jump along searching
for leafy delicacies.
But still the tabby hunter
finds you and deposits
sad corpses on our floors.
Grandad would like to tell her
you are a protected species
of ancient lineage.
He has no words to do this,
her collar bell gives you no warning.
Mummy and Daddy with
two little girls, baby
brother and a baby
paraphernalia mountain
crammed themselves with
bags of food and clothes
into their seven seater van
to visit the cousins with
two little boys in the
mighty megalopolis.
The city cousins sneered
at this van in their
driveway, said only people
in unsalubrious southern
suburbs drove such
low class vehicles.
Auntie Jo carries shopping
in her trundler, having no
car in her retirement
after three redundancies.
Grandpa in new late
model car, retired after
thirty odd years in one
workplace , is most scornful
of her trundler as his chic
car purrs around town.
Mummy and Daddy would
rather pay the mortgage,
feed and clothe mushrooming
baby brother than buy latest
trends stylish appearance.
Auntie Jo would rather buy
a comfortable life than a
four wheeled shopping basket.
The shopping trundler
has a sturdy frame
with wheels which
squeak unrhythmically
under very heavy loads.
This stolid pack horse
had made many trips
home from the supermarket
with its fit and healthy driver.
The rubberised backing on
the trundler’s bag is cracking
where it sags around the jagged
corners of the bulky loads
it trails home so frequently
behind its energetic driver,
transporting them as efficiently
as a four wheeled vehicle.
One passerby at the bus stop
said that the trundler is
an old lady’s bag. What
does it matter when it
makes the weight of six
shopping bags so light ?
The dog’s backyard is her domain,
a vital part of herself.
She polices it, sniffing out
marauding cats and
prowling hedgehogs.
The cats are routed
at high speed
with growls and loud barks.
She bites curled up hedgehogs
then cries when their spikes
pierce her tongue.
Now she is led firmly inside
to have the spikes removed.
The luxuriant foliage
of the vegetable garden
with fascinating odours
is minutely nosed at row by row
for possible animal scents.
The gardener works
under her surveillance,
pulled up weeds are all sniffed.
The sunny concrete path
is a warming pad
for middle aged limbs and back,
the shady trees a summer refuge
for a panting matron in a fur coat.
Her inspection of
her domain complete
the dog stretches out
dozing in the sun.
Originally posted 1 Jan 2016.
What joy to sit solitary reading
big city newspapers leisurely
consuming latte and neat little
club sandwiches or scrambled
eggs on toast if I’m feeling
ravenous in the cosy surrounds
of a local cafe.
I’m told “meet more people”,
“get an interest”, “join a club”,
but it all takes up time I
could spend on writing and I
know lots of people already.
I need peace from their
jabbering to write out the
ideas sloshing around in my
head. wind down time in a
local cafe rebalances
my equilibrium.
A cafe lunch not made by me
is a delicious change from
soup and toast eaten while
lounging on my couch at home.
I’m a lady who lunches
such a grand status after
years of work lunches
snatched at top speed.
Sometimes a fifteen minute
sit down with sandwiches
and caffeine but often
it was lunches on legs
with so much to do
between AM and PM slots.
Now I’m a pensioner with
a modest income since I
found no part time work
in our stagnant local market
with few new openings
for those over fifty years old.
I was lucky to work
till I was sixty four.
Retired former workmates
and I dine out each month
– if we go grand one month
we eat Chinese the next.
But lunch out costs less
than dinner out costs so
one day a week I’m a
lady who lunches in local
cafes eating chef prepared
meals in stylish surroundings.
Sometimes with friends,
sometimes alone, but more
classy than sammies and tea
on the couch at home.
lifecameos 