Over the fence, Frances says 'the glass is falling'

Over the fence, Frances says 'the glass is falling'

        with March about to go out like a lion, hot and humid.

        Wind-whipping angry branches of Moreton Bay fig

        green feathery leaves on the jacaranda

        smoking into the grey afternoon.

        And she ought to know, at 80 she's got a weather-eye

        barometer off her grandfather's sailing ship

        when all the primitive instruments

        only confirmed his learned speculations.

        And from her ordered earth-bound garden

        she knows the death in idleness.

        Watching this chrome clock along the wall

        to hold calm times to her

        in a warm woven blanket of safe harbour

        then out tying things down

        her red scarf an unmistakable flag

        against the strange afternoon.

        Frances says 'the glass is falling'

        a finger to her lips where the storm starts suddenly

        rushing out from the urgent syntax of her speech.

 These poems are from my new collection IN THE APRICOT DARKNESS (view the cover and contents below in my recent posts). They are now being published individually, daily under 'recent posts' on my blog and will be available shortly as an eBook that can be read online or downloaded for free.