Poems in the wild #39

Poem #39 (6 of spades) was released on the front counter at the Brunswick Street Book Store:

It was like he never heard of a shirt.
I found my underpants at birth,
spent them carefully in change rooms.
When he walked, I thought coat hangers
raked his shoulders up at the corners
and curled them out into the fit street.
My belly had skin and sense
but no more babies: I praised it so.
I woke to rain on my face
it was like I had never heard of tears
I found my tears at birth.

Poems in the wild #38

Poem #38 (6 of hearts) was released by the memorial fountain in Apollo Bay.

The mosquitoes are chewing us up
like we're the special of the day
if you like tiny legs and some crunch.
I've been slicked in some sort of
stench that seems to mean I am
fresh meat to wee beasts.
What tiny monsters I cradle and
prick touchy stems that stretch
into confusion, horror, sleep.
If I had an exoskeleton I would
rent it out to slugs and soft
caterpillars, I'd watch them curl.

Poems in the wild #37

Poem #37 (10 of spades) was released in the TV cabinet drawer at the cottage we stayed in in Apollo Bay, Beeches by the Sea. (Very nice, btw).

You had an elaborate system that
you thought would keep us out of bed.
Unhilariously, I already slept
on the couch every night.
The slightly too short was propped
up with cushions for my feet.
I could place every pinprick light
in that room: tv, stereo, computer.
The heavy door lay fat in the frame
and I clenched my body to win fatter.
There was morning, at least once
but I was frowning at fingernails.

Poems in the wild #36

Poem #36 (2 of diamonds) was put in a be-stickered enveloped addressed to "The Dead Letter Office" and posted into a post box in Box Hill.

Please say yes or no for the
benefit of the tape.
We had been informed that
you became a parent without
a formal certificate or even
informal training.
Is this correct?
This new human, as of
the seventeenth of January,
two-thousand-and-nine
has not approved you as carer.
Recognise this formal caution:
your child may reside with you
and you may be tolerated
pending adulthood, as per.

Poems in the wild #35

Poem #35 (Queen of spades) was released in a tree on the edge of the green in Port Fairy, where someone on stage was murdering an already quite murderous Coldplay song.

Feel this sting of the slap
to our collective pride
There's nothing like asking
for what we get slapped down
across a bargaining table
and onto the bouncy floor
like Chicken Marengo.
We steam soft in the meetings
shake our disbelief aside: harden.
Do it again, again, again:
Solidarity: make them hear.