Five Poems

The Folklore of Plants
Joss slices hunks of ham
off the ham-hock. His hand clamps
the bone to the table
and he cuts away from himself 'because that way
you never cut yourself. When he
eases the pressure, the milky pearl
of the knuckle shines more brightly.
I am reading a book called The Folklore of Plants.
It is Saturday tea,
makeshift because Mother is poorly.

'Blockbusters' tells us the Italian-born pioneer
of radio was Macaroni. Dad grips the loaf,
butters the open edge before slicing.
Tea appears by magic
...