Originals

You’ll never be Original they say,
and that’s a fact – going back 200
years might make you one, family
and relationships intact. As if you
are impressed or really care. So
what’s the dumb insinuation here?

Being Inbred? Why yes, essentially.
That’s a cold & hard reality allowed
by Peach Trees early pioneers.
The nights were cold, neighbours
warmed themselves abed, extending
family to friends, over & over again.

Flats the bullocks grazed are gone –
timber laden wagons crack and squeak
the narrow tracks in distant memory,
pioneers who cleared the trees remain
as names revered while Peach Trees
tamed became Peachester acclaimed.

Lest you get the wrong idea, locals say
you’re welcome here and warmly greet
the new – ‘tho with watchful eyes they
view and ask in cautious deference your
name in case a vagrant son returns;
then smile and vaguely walk away.
© 26 June 2008, I. D. Carswell

Her Kids

Her children were born caesarean –
by choice as rumour goes and not
inadequate design; now it may well
explain their leaving. Absences are
clarified in terms derived from why
the silence spells a shaky calm – a
reign of terror quelled, it may say
nothing more about her than a still
to be resolved innuendo hinting at
a neighbour’s unsavoury character.

She walks a thin line between self-
actualisation and numb isolation, a
place where six packs of bourbon &
coke make much more sense. If self
esteem came tailor-made in cans and
there were no come-backs for past
mistakes she’s bound to be okay.
Weekends I sit in the bleachers glad
for peace; her kids drove us crazy
wrecking cars from dawn ‘til dusk.
© 19 June 2008, I. D. Carswell

Their Dog – In 2D

They have another dog –
and/or an illusory cat. That
makes maybe five to
ignore. It seems happy;
it plays with a puppy’s
random abandon.

As yet it is free of the
owners’ dysfunctional
idiosyncrasies, a situation
we know will change; it
will soon see the World
only in 2D and matt grey.

Meanwhile we run the
gauntlet of Blue Heeler
stupidity, fuelled by Dandi
Dinmont vacuousness,
overseen by an estranged
dairy farm dog that stayed.

It’s the Wild, Wild West out
here. But we shouldn’t
complain. Our five JRTs rule
the roost with anarchy born
of the breed. And at the least –
they know they’re family!
© 19 January 2008, I. D. Carswell