Blank Space

Poem II

The Last Dregs of Summer

The last garden salad tossed and eaten
On broken dinner trays while the TV tells of last year's inferno.
The drive home.
While smooth white trees flicker
and dance colours  through our eyes,
crowns ablaze in an auburn haze
like candles.
While the sweat of summer dissipates and
sets over the dusky blue ridges of horizon.
Leaving a sweet pink taste like cotton candy
and last year's furniture tossed out on the naturestrip.
We're going home.
On the freeway the cars and the tussock grass agree
it's been a long hot one.
A dry branch bleached lies broken.
A cicada sings its song to the watermelon sky
Seven years in an unturning darkness
this is a first summer, and also a last.
A brief prickle of yellow grass underfoot in an empty lot
before the road winds us home in a muted purple hue amid brief flashes
of traffic lights and neon.
'All passengers please assume the brace
position as we prepare for landing.'
It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Watercolour II

I'm slowly getting the hang of this, perhaps?

Man/Bird

Tape measures

Watercolour I