At grandpa’s (with my tubby cousin)

for chris 

Yellow-brown stain across white
ceiling; grandpa in leather chair 

would raise his 
pipe to say g’day

we run out to play cricket 
at the front. Like tradition 
he’d follow and sit, second step 

elbows as wide as knees 
tap out each change 

of bowler, pack fresh leaves and light up 
at the crack of a good shot.  

Could he see
a future test captain  
through those glasses; silent 

as the glass 
of a commentary box. 

 

my first haiku

Mum gave me a box recently. It contained all of my schooling stuff from kindergarten and up. It’s a large box. Two large boxes actually. In it I found probably the first haiku I ever wrote. Here it is after years in an attic space, published for the first time:

.

hawks on a kangaroo
pick the last bites of their meal
fly back to their nest

.

I wasn’t expecting genius and nor should you.  I don’t remember the moment. It’s clearly Australian and I’m pretty proud of little Andrew having a go.

It does provide a good opportunity for a response ku though. To primary school teachers everywhere:

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one two three four five
one two three four five six sev
3 five 12… eight

 

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Rearview mirror

There’s a black suburu parked on the left hand verge
of the highway.  Two of them

walk from the galvanised pole –
taped orange flowers.

He watches her,
too far apart for hands

her face searches
the ground

picks up something
in the grass.