That morning I walked outside
To a puff in the air, by the window on the back deck
A simple, white puff – flour-
That hinted of the first volley-
A well-made apple pie.
I countered in the evening with
A full roast dinner and vegs.
The gravy, poured high and clear,
Framed in the yellow-lit window,
Said: ‘Come at me, bro.’
The fresh-trimmed bush and blushing petals
Of an award-winning garden punched in my guts
But I hung my new framed print in the lounge and
Invited the neighbours round
To see – and some brunch.
The satellite came next, for them,
And the huge roundness of it fell
On me like an H-bomb.
They listened to their films too loud,
And every room had HD sound.
I called up a guy and ordered
Two mega-loads of solar-panels.
Angled just right,
to twinkle in the windows
Against closed lids and gritted jowls
But was thwarted in kind by the blinding blast
Of a plate-sized flood-light,
Motion sensors turned on high
To light my bedroom into day,
Every time I turn to hide.
The smoke from a barbie-
The salt on the garden-
The accidental scratch
On a brand-new Holden.
Suburban wars with missiles,
Pointed and armed, behind
The casual invite to “Just pop in,
and see the game on the big screen,
After he left, and she went bitter,
They left behind a suspense
The size of a house, empty,
In the middle of a white picket fence.
But I sharpened my knives and
Pulled out the china.
Because the sign says ‘sold’ and
Today there’s a truck,
And the wife said “well met”
“I’ve an uzi in the shed.”
Danielle K. Day