Luck

Luckily
the wolf is inside
when the bird
comes to splash about
in what has become
a birdbath.

‘Peter and the Wolf’
was childhood.
A bird, a boy,
a wolf. Somewhere
from deep in the forest
the horns sounded
warning.

Just like the song,
the kookaburra sits
in the old oak tree.
Each morning begins
with its long, wild
laugh.


Mountain

Climbers go out in the dark
with head torches and rope.
Sometimes the snow is thigh-
deep. They climb to the death
zone, where it happens, sometimes
in someone’s arms, but mostly
alone and cold.

There was a childhood friend,
a climber, I looked after
for a time. Cancer came
and his fine, bony face was cut
and re-made. I’d pick him up
from hospital, alarmingly
unbandaged, and waitresses would gasp
as we ordered. He talked about sleeping
bound to sheer rock, brewing coffee
in the clouds.

Since then, silence.
Like at high altitude
on a clear day – nothing,
they say, but you
and the mountain.

This is not at all
a love story, but still
there’s hurt
and fear of loss.

What was the mountain?
Where was hope?
When the avalanche?
Where the rope?


First Aid

Remembering thirty
and two, we resuscitate
a plastic baby, then
an adult. Where’s bleeding
gone? Down by bandages
and wounds. Lunch
in the sun and wind.
Trees thrash,
the sea’s meringue scuds
up the beach.

When my sister
crashed her motorbike
they cut her clothes off
and handed me a bag
full of feathers.

Home by bus
next to a man
with a fruit
crumble. Move forward
said the driver. Don’t
stand in front of that mirror
or we’ll all be in
deadly peril.


Plum

Why wear socks
when your days
are numbered.

Like plums falling
from the tree, frequent
as minutes.


Doing things

Do one thing
and another thing
at the same time.

Do a jigsaw
without looking at the picture
on the lid
of the box.

Name your suitcase
though no trip
is planned. Call it
The Windsor Greys
even though there is only
one of it.

The Greys, you thought,
were Javelin, Atlas, Falkland,
Jupiter. But you misheard entirely –
probably thinking one thing
while doing
another.

Major Apollo was the drum
horse, stepping calm and regular
as heartbeat. Yours
or that of one band member, who,
before going on stage, says
to another
Don’t worry,
just do that thing
that you do.


Horse

i.m. Jane Maxey

There was talk
of childhood, a horse
named Bucket.

The celebrant said
Please be standing.

An antique black car
took her away – numberplate
h r s e – being hearse or hearsay
horse, even.


Carlo and Isaac

I’m about to die.
I can give you the invisibility potion.
Isaac, look out behind...
I was fighting for ages and you were no help.
I’m being chased by, like, 20 guys.
I’m pretty sure there are some teleporting commands.
Oh, I just fell off a roof and broke my leg.
I’ve got a machete.
Do you need a handsaw?
What’s up there?
It’s almost night time – I’m on 76 percent.
Do you have any water?
I’m fully dead.