Monday, November 14, 2016

Allison Morris #14 'December in Australia'

Here it comes
the sticky glisten
of sweat, under 
polyester Santa-hats.

Sunnies on,
backs-of-legs burning 
on the sizzling car seat
drenched in sun
singing ‘Let it Snow’.

A cold white bowl of 
bulging, tap-wet grapes, 
in a darkened room
the low-level murmur 
of cricket in the background, and
gentle fairy-light glints
on the edge of the tv.

Spread-eagled on the 
cool tile floor, trying to escape the
damp fragrant roast-chicken heat
given off by the oven
Mum humming while she chops the veg
in an apron with reindeer on it.

The baked-grass smell of hot road
when the rain hits
still holds the glamour 
of school-holidays gone by.


  1. wonderful, you evoke it all for me too - last stanza is memory perfectly repeated

  2. Oh, it's coming it is! Baked-grass smell of hot road is so evocative.


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