The boy monkeys hit the girl monkeys

The boy monkeys hit the girl monkeys
(says Ruby)
and mostly when I say
Tidy up! Tidy up!

the poor girls
get to tidy up, tidy up
and they get two stickers and a stamp
and something to eat.

But not the boy monkeys.
We both have to face the boy monkeys
and say,

You won't get two stickers
and a stamp
in the middle of the book.

Not the boys.
Just the girls.

I saw one monkey

I saw one monkey
(says Elsie)
swinging on the fridge door.
Then the fridge door shut
And he got stuck inside
And called Help! Help!
very loudly.

Leaky dishwasher

One monk sneaked out of that corner
(says Elsie)
and went splash splash like that.
Another monk tipped over the bowl
and then he swimmed in it.

True love

There could be bad water
(says Elsie).
She might get drowned and fall asleep
like Sleeping Beauty,
like this.

And he might fall in love
with her but not yet,
only when he drags the water
out of her mouth.

The boy has to make the tonic
and put it in the girl's mouth
because she fell asleep.

He says I love you,
when I sleep
I always dream of your love of me.

Jam fingers
in the dark depths
of the spear.
You're already got to married.

The truth of my life

My monkeys have cutting plates
(says Elsie).

They must not cut me
or the truth of my life.

I don't like you

I don't like you.
I read your book
and I still don't
like you even more
than I didn't like you

before, before you died
before I read your book.
Still I'm glad
you're glad
you wrote your book.

When I get tired of being a ballerina

When I get tired of being a ballerina
(says Elsie)
I will have a baby
called Hannah
and she will be my friend.

But I can't have two friends
called Hannah
so I will have to give
my baby Hannah
to my other friend
Layla.

Actually I won't get tired
of being a ballerina.

I love laughing (says Elsie)

I love laughing
(says Elsie).

It makes me feel
nice and firm.

Can you hear that wind?
It's breathing.

Happy hipday

(for Jan)

The hip op was tip-top.
Soon you will hip-hop
and high kick and flip flop,
not just in your brain.


Last week you sat
like a marionette.
Now you are back,
a person again.

Gone is the duck walk,
the bald, worn out bone.
Posies and pirouettes!
Gone is the pain.

Hip hip hooray
for the hip of the day!

Writing a book

I am writing a book.
It will take time.
The book has a title: Flatlantis.
And another: Tropical Ice.

The poems will grow like pack-ice.
They will flow like sweat.
They will be easy to read.
They will be hard to write.

When the book is published
I will be a grown-up.
Curious.
How will that feel?

Sick in a towel

Sick in a towel
Child is sick in towel.
Mother folds towel.
Repeat ad nauseam.

Paper folded 50 times
would reach the sun.
Towel folded four times
is towel overflowing.

Colours straight from the tube.
No returns.
More pills. More
lavender on the pillow.

Not Shackleton

Which is sadder,
which more gallant?

A son left on a rock
with reef pigs?

A mother leaving
on a barge?

Moon lagoon

Lagoon glazed
with the only road
to the moon.

June
soon.
Rebecca’s tune.

Sunwich

Sun slips up like an angel fish.
Belief.

The day goes by.
No grief.

Sun wrecked in papaya sky.
Relief.

Happy feet

Ropati is two with solemn,
strategic eyes.
We feed him like a pet
fried fish, cucumber, Weetbix, water.
That’s his plan.
And when he struts
feet splayed, chest out
he’s a man.

Location

Auspicious for Tai Chi.
East to sunrise.
North to rain.
West to clouds.
South to houses.

Thick air mends the mouth.
Sand teaches feet.
Documentary orientation
stay on my face,
stay on my feet.

Not nothing

Antarctica is not nothing.
It’s concave, exporting white.

An atoll is not nothing.
It’s convex, deflecting light.

Tsunami warning for Tokelau

Shaky shaky
the house on a coral crust.

Shaky shaky
the coral crust.

Shaky shaky
the messages missed.

Shaky shaky
the rescue planks.

Shaky shaky
the love-links.

Shaky shaky
self without strings.

Shaky shaky
all things.

Tsunami

Tsunami on The Ice:
milk sprinkled
on a mile-high shelf.

Tsunami on the atoll:
what atoll?

Sketching

An outline is easy:
The Ice is a hermit crab,
Fakaofo is a kite.

But sketching one’s lack of limits
the other’s lock of limits
is not likely.

Crunched inside
a prosthetic shell.
Grounded on a short string.