(scene from my play Money From America)

DON’T MAKE YOUR HOUSE IN MY MIND

 Oh yes, I saw what you wanted

From the very first day we met;

Your long legs wanton in the marram grass,

You promised sex without frills,

Your instincts more mothering than you know,

You delivered it without thrills

After the kids came it was respectability

And a job we could grow old in;

Our own home twenty years down the road

Everything borrowed along the way;

Freedom mortgaged for a safe house

Wasn’t such a big price to pay

All things come to pass in time;

The kids, the home, the income,

Shared lives going down the long slide

But their passing leaves a sour taste behind;

I should have made it clear from the start,

Don’t make your house in my mind

OLD MATTRESSES

They have raised a highway

Across our valley

And landscaped it

With blocks of windowed concrete.

Beneath, the river strangles itself

With shopping trolleys

And bits of old bicycles

Worn-out mattresses

And smashed-up pallets are everywhere

While a bloated condom

Flutters by on a piece of driftwood.

Painted hoarding-women

With rotating eyes

Compete for attention

With pram-pushing young love,

Their stilettos tap-dancing the hard shoulder

On a clear day

Juggernauts gleam in the sun

And rolled-up tabloids

Tell tall tales about Royalty

Or football….and Sex