Spinning wheels in wet ruts,
the spray of muddy water:
rainbows.
I would love to, I would love to
I would love to, I will never.
Who’s at home to worry now?
Cups are cold though the beams
are sweet with the smoke
of joints long gone out.
Who makes the chai
and watches a clove fall
into the bench-top gap?
I will never, I will never
I will never, I don’t mind.
A white plane in the clearing
gum-top blue
drags a scentless vapour tail.
So far off, airports, action, commerce
competence, sentiment, attachment
lingo, art.
Plane’s a white tablet, not to be taken.
Sun-warmed stone says so. Competence!
I don’t mind, I don’t mind
I don’t, really, I don’t mind.
Merrindahl Andrew is a semi-submerged poet and short story writer living in Canberra. She is usually adorned with small children. Her work has appeared in Cordite, Islet, Block, Muse and Muse Apprentice Guild.