Give us this day our daily poem!



24 March



Thunder running to and fro through cloud.

Light firing back on brick, stone, clothesline's lines.

Joy! - the vege garden's getting wet without

tank water, or me lifting slopping buckets

with only my right hand.



Images of Queen Vic, the square behind, or

Breacan, the volunteers,

or what? What's there? Here, thunder like

a crackling breath and I without fear.





25 March



Its calm eye completes a third

of a revolution from my left

to my right. Now. I can see.

It has an oblong pupil which

groans. Gets under my skin.

Starts talking. Yes! There are

voices in there, talking excitedly.



The Radiology Staff don't know

they let loose each day this crowd,

this voluble society of starers.

What are they saying about me?

I tried to tell the staff. I said,

"What are those voices?"

They laughed nervously.



My boob, all through, brazenly bared,

moves not one jot under this intense scrutiny,

says nothing in response to the babble.

My armpit, reaching above my head,

simply aches, endures ...





26 March



So tired.

Not going to work.

Can't.



Sit.

Sift through photos of November:

remember? the election.

Next day, a sunny run to Greendale,

Pykes Creek.



Was I any different then?





27 March



I've made November beautiful

in its Album, Volume 4, 2007,

the colour they call 'Sky'.

The month started with RAIN

gushing and flooding, running amok.



December? I'm not sure of it.

Nervous. A small anxious frown

as I scan photos filed and labelled

"December Fun".



The nineteenth wasn't. The day

I got the call, the recall call.

The day clouds hid the sun.

That wasn't fun. Nor was there

any rain, not then.