Where are the epic novels
About the reliable mum,
Who went to the shops
And had dinner on the table at 6?

Where is all the poetry
About the dependable dad,
Who tucked the kids in
And stayed married and faithful to his wife?

And where are all the ballads
About the happy children,
Who are loved and fed?
Who captures the peace of consistency?

Bell chimes at 3.15, the swarm of kids depart.
There is the thunk of lockers slamming closed
Then it’s out the gates, the world awaits
The text books now disposed.

Then the swarm descends upon the streets
And freedom induced bravado remind
That you not be late, to stop 48
Or you risk being left behind.

As the tram slow and reluctant approaches
Rough hands push their friends into battle
There’s a collective crunch, as on you bunch
A heard of chaotic cattle.

Now stuck within a sweaty mass
As you’re being packed in closer still
With uniforms that are abused and deodorant that’s overused
The tram has reached its fill.

The unsuspecting commuters
Clench their teeth to stay composed
As the crowd all but tries, to fit one more inside
But finally the doors are closed.

There is victory for those on board
And while from the struggle you’re nearly spent
You still find energy from your ride, to beam at those you’ve left outside
As on the way you went.

In the midst of drought
When does the epic love come?
…with the summer rain

Pick a label to wear,
With pride or on secret- it doesn’t matter.
Once you have chosen, you’re stuck with it
If you don’t pick one, one will be assigned
So be quick to avoid disappointment.
Each and every one will become heavy to wear,
Though some have a little more weight than others.
The label will cover up a multitude of sins
And can disguise who you really are- even from yourself.

It is not natural…
Monogamy is man made
But so are cell phones

Tap..scroll..pause
Trolling through your feed
Passively absorbing uselessness
As if a vital need.

Tap..scroll..pause
It’s someone you used to know
You analyse another’s life
From what they choose to show.

Tap..tap..tap
As you seek your validation
Putting your best self on show
The ‘likes’ now your fixation.

Tick..tick..tock
As you wait for a reply
For a ‘friend’ to reach their own short pause
In their tap, scroll, pause then die.

Standing tall and green
Takes pride of place.

Small hands hang precious *****,
Larger hands hang fragile ones,
To appease the critical eye.

Lights twinkle, turned on at twilight
A star adorns the top, a little lopsided
As it is just slightly out of reach to fix.

Boxed and wrapped hopes are piled underneath,
Perfectly presented with a bow
Ready to be torn in the big unveil.

The big day comes and then it goes,
As does each day- significant or not.
The lights do not get turned on now.

The star is more lopsided as the tree droops,
Taking pride of place the yellowing leaves,
Once lush and green, now sully the spirit.

Until, it is discarded on the nature strip.
Just another piece of junk- ready to be replaced.