Sugarcane

There is no sugarcane hereabouts.

Therefore there are no childhood raids,

no sneak into tall fields,

no pilfering of a promising stalk,

no peeling of the rind to get at that sweet pulp,

no nectar, no dribble, nothing.

And, even if there was,

I’m too old for that kind of caper,

just as I no longer play with toy soldiers,

or skip rope, or toss a tennis ball

against a neighbour's fence

and catch the rebound.

Yet I remember steamy summer days

when no thought of angry farmers,

poisonous black snakes, wilful spiders,

could keep me from that seductive juice.

There’s been many a pastry, soft-drink,

slice of cake, in my life since those days.

But, back then, I was going right to the source.

I tapped into sugar while it was as new and fresh

as the morning sun.

The rest of the world lined up behind me.

Just A Suggestion

Heartbroken,

so write.

Unhappy with the state of the world…

write.

Hate the job,

the noise,

the traffic,

the weather,

the pain in your left thigh –

then write and write

and write some more.

To be honest,

it’s not much of a strategy.