Poems

 

Ode to Heather (September 2006)

 

You go, girl!

You used to say

From downstate Illinois

The girl come to town

 

The girl

Bursting to be a woman

The girl

Not a line upon the face

Blonde

Luscious

rounded

soft

A gentle pear, a peach

With exhibitionist flair

 

You thrust your chest out at me

And kinked your hips

Your chin held high

 

We drove in your 3-geared mustang

Down to the circus pier

At the likor store, you asked me to buy

Rum and beer

But blushed when over dinner, I poured you wine

 

At 19, underage au-pair

The strip-club lured

A secret between them and you and me

At midnight, the money teased

Of what after-hours could bring

When, frustrated, like Cinderella

You had to leave

 

I don't go naked!

You would say

Shaking your sex appeal at me

Be careful, honey! I replied

And you pouted your sweet rose-bud lips

 

You wrote poems about your friends, boyfriends and lovers

Put them in a booklet

And wrote on it 'Pick me up, I'm free!'

Now, I wonder, have you written about me

 

You gave me diamantes

Worthy of diamonds

You taught me to dare

And to be free

You go, girl!

And you take good care of you

Of exciting, exuberant, loveable you.

 

 

Travel Writing

 

Indian Journal - May 1999

 

On the terrace, three stories up, at Palace Heights Hotel, a few metres from the round-about of Connaught Place. My head is shaded from the sun by a parasol. It's hot. I feel my skin moist in its cracks at my elbows and knees, and drops of sweat collect under my clothes as they let go of the pores and start to run.

At the domestic airport of Mumbai, I saw my first Indian bird. Now I spot my first Indian cat, a thin, dirty, black and white creature scampering about the rooves of the bedrooms. It's noisy out here. I'm grateful for the height, which does provide a minimum of distance to enable some mental cutting-out of the car horns below. They are used so frequently, that the general impression is a cacophany of sound similar to the brass section of an orchestra warming up. Only the performance never begins, or rather this is the performance and the piece goes on and on and on.

I did enjoy the taxi drive into town, although I very soon experienced the phenomenal pollution Dehli is renowned for. Despite the foggy haze however, fuscia bourgainvilla flourished on either side of the road. To my amazement, the vegetation here shows no sign, at least at first glance, of perturbation: abundant green trees, creepers, banana plants, and lots of leafy canas showing off large floppy heads of red, orange and yellow.

The traffic jammed part way through the journey. Little wonder really, with no lane markings on the road. A mistake in my mind, when they brought cars onto the roads, not to bring with them the concept of lanes. It's just like the mess you get in a swimming pool when it's free-for-all. Fun for playing, terrible if you're trying to get somewhere with your exercise. So, here, that's what you've got: a constant free-for-all, and the chaotic battle for right of way. This is fought over by a multitude of vehicles of all shapes and sizes: wobbly bicycles, mopeds and motor-bikes, three-wheeled rickshaws, cars, vans, packed buses and charging trucks,... and then there are the crossing-the-road pedestrians, the boldest of them all. It's interesting to note that most traffic lights don't appear to work. It's such a pity, because when they do turn red, the lights are delightfully pasted with the word RELAX!