He. You. She.

He. You. She.
Three poems for free. I hope they're okay.




My Avocado

Sitting there in the fridge, smug
That would be fucking right
But I know he’s hiding the truth from me
The naughty shit
His skin — dark and rough and green
And yet he looks so perfect
Ready for a salad
Mine to take
Mine to eat

But my avocado
Hiding his foul brown-ness from me
Leading me on
Lying in my fridge
Lying to me
He’s nothing but a liar
Naughty little avocado
You’re naughty
You’re a naughty little shit



My Pen

Baby where did you go?
Three days
Three whole days since I lost you
My soul aches wondering where your plastic-self might be
Your spare ink cartridges lie still — no longer with purpose

Baby where did you go?
I still remember how you felt between my fingers and how you
Managed to speak for me
Even at the worst
Even at the best
Even in the middle

You were all of me when I was nothing
Ink running down to your tip
I could always coax out what you had
To spill

Baby where did you go?
It was easy
To work you, until you couldn’t help yourself
And then your hot, thick truth was all over my page
And you were mine
And I was yours

Baby, where did you go?



My Crazy

My crazy wakes up early and goes to bed late
My crazy knows that there isn’t enough time in the day
My crazy has a busy schedule and I am at the top of the list
My crazy has been watching me
My crazy has been paying attention
My crazy knows the drill, but
My crazy, she lacks imagination — for she looks just like me
My crazy talks like me
My crazy walks like me
My crazy smells like me
My crazy, well, she’s just like me
My crazy is me
My crazy is everything I want to be
My crazy is everything I’m not
My crazy is qualified
My crazy is tired, and
My crazy wants her life back
My crazy is going to win.

The Bunny

An Easter story for my nephew, Clancy John, for when he is old enough to read it and realise that his Aunty Al was always a little bit messed up.

For you, CJ.

The Bunny

I didn’t call you.

I didn’t call you at all.

Nevertheless, nevertheless

You steamed to me over the sea,

Fat and red, a placenta

— Sylvia Plath, Medusa

~ ~ ~

“Why don’t you want to leave out some carrots?”

CJ shrugged and wished his mum would leave him alone about the whole Easter Bunny business.

“Clancy, you’re seven now. You don’t need to listen to what those other kids at school say. They’re only trying to scare you.”

“I don’t listen to them mum,” he lied, forking his macaroni around his plate. “I just don’t really feel like leaving out the carrots tonight.”

His mum sighed, but at the same time she seemed to give up. She stood and cleared away the plates and CJ was happy the conversation was over.

His dad fought the case next. “CJ. We know that you’re a big boy now, but that doesn’t mean you have to pretend to be something you’re not.” CJ’s dad had always been that way — trying to make too big a point, too soon. “We can have hot-cross buns and marshmallow rabbits and chocolate eggs and all the things you like. Tomorrow will be fun, you’ll see.”

CJ knew it would be a nice day. That wasn’t the thing he was fighting his parents on. “Mum, Dad. I’m not trying to be naughty, I just don’t want to put any carrots out. I don’t want the — “ he hesitated, “ — the Easter Bunny to come tonight.”

CJ saw his mum giggle quietly at the sink as she scraped off the dirty plates. 

“CJ, son,” his dad started, seemingly determined to fight the case, “are you worried that if the Easter Bunny brings you gifts, the other kids at school will make fun of you?”

CJ was starting to get angry and his voice got loud. “Dad, I don’t care about the kids at school, I just don’t want that big Bunny near me.”

In the kitchen his mum turned around and her eyes were wide with surprise. “Clancy John, you will not raise your voice when you speak to your father.”

CJ felt the hot blush rise up into his cheeks and regretted saying anything at all. His macaroni was going hard and dry on his plate. He should have kept quiet about the stupid Bunny. He looked at his dad and noticed the man’s eyes were tired and wet. CJ looked back down again.

“Alright young man,” his mother said quietly, “I think it’s time you hit the hay. We’ll see you in the morning. But there will be no Easter treats for you, I’m afraid.”

CJ could breathe. No treats, thank goodness. He felt a wave of relief — The Bunny wasn’t going to come tonight.

~ ~ ~

A book and a glass of water were allowed him, and the fan was on the lowest speed — just enough to keep the air moving and the scary sounds at bay. 

CJ tried to focus on his reading, but every minute or so he found himself looking out the window. He was waiting for The Bunny. Sure, his mum had said it wasn’t coming, but CJ knew better than that. 

The trees rustled and the winded picked up and the night was full of whispering and jumps that he couldn’t ignore. He wished he had finished his macaroni — he always felt sleepier with a full tummy. Tonight he felt hollow and filled with nothing but worry. Nothing but thoughts of The Bunny.

The Bunny. 

CJ knew about pretend things. Things that were in his books. Things that were on the television. Things that didn’t exist in the world where he lived. Make-believe. Pretend. He knew the difference and he knew that sometimes dreams seemed like real-life, but you had to shake yourself free and bring yourself back to Mum, and Dad, and School, and Sunshine. 

All the scary things disappeared when the sun came up.

But not The Bunny.

~ ~ ~

The first time he had seen it had been in the middle of the night and at the time, it had been middle-of-the-night dark. Dark. So dark that CJ had almost believed that it was indeed, a dream.

Outside his window, sitting cross-legged with its back against the fence, was a huge pink, fluffy bunny. It had drooping pink ears and awful tennis-ball sized eyes that were as red as raspberry cordial. It was not like a rabbit, but more like someone who was dressed in a rabbit suit. CJ had gone to the window to get a better look and the someone-in-a-bunny-suit with the raspberry tennis ball eyes had waved at him enthusiastically. That was when he had seen the red splotches on it’s hands and feet. The Bunny opened it’s mouth and screamed into the night. It was like a million fingernails scraping down a million chalkboards. 

CJ had wet the bed that night. He hadn’t known that it wouldn’t be the last time he would see the bunny. Scary things disappeared when the sun came up. 

But not the bunny.

~ ~ ~

The second time was at breakfast the next day, Good Friday, when CJ was eating his cereal at the bench, listening to his parents bicker in their en suite. They thought he couldn’t hear them. The minivan was parked in the driveway outside the window and CJ had a clear view of it. 

He heard the gravel crunching and the dirty pink bunny came swaying up the path, stumbling here and there, a bottle in it’s hand. 

CJ was frozen with fear — he knew he shouldn’t be seeing what he was seeing — his held his spoon half way between his bowl and his mouth. The bunny looked up at him, head lolling. It waved. CJ didn’t wave back. 

The bunny cocked it’s head and it’s huge raspberry-red eyes stared at CJ. The splotches were still on it’s hands. CJ wanted to call for his mum or his dad, but no words came out of his mouth, and so, as the bunny tossed the bottle in the air and it smashed on the bitumen behind him, CJ felt the piss soaking into his school shorts. He wondered if anyone was going to save him.

~ ~ ~

The third time was the worst.

School. 

Big lunch. 

CJ had put on his hat and eaten his sandwich and his sultanas. He kept his apple aside. Lunch was always the best part of the day. School was good, but he found himself longing to be outside. Reading was good, but it was always better when he was outside and could feel the cool breeze and the bright sun on his face. 

His best friend was Sammy — big, burly, brown and blonde — Sammy was CJ’s anchor. They mock-wrestled on the oval; race each other from wall to wall; pretend to be Jedi knights; or go exploring in the bush beyond the far fence (which technically, was breaking the rules, but CJ felt safe if Sammy was with him). The two of them used their Big Lunch time to full capacity, and CJ loved it. He looked forward to it. He waited on edge for it.

But that day turned out to be different.

CJ sat on the bench near the fern trees. Sammy hadn’t arrived down from the sixth grade block by then. CJ turned his apple over and over in his hand — the bed wetting stuck in his mind. He thought about it over and over like the apple, and felt heat rush up to his face. He wanted to smash the apple to pieces. He didn’t want to eat it — he wanted to destroy it. 

A screeching sound caught his attention. CJ looked up to see the pink bunny with the red tennis-ball eyes waving at him from across the oval. It’s mouth opened and closed oddly, like a fish from the cartoons. CJ tensed up and willed himself back home. He willed himself anywhere away from the bunny Anywhere. Even back to his bed where maybe he could be asleep and maybe this could be a dream and maybe the sheets would be dry.

CJ wished Sammy would come down for lunch.

The bunny was motioning him over, calling him across the sea that was the oval, but CJ knew better than that — strangers and candy and balloons and all of that stuff — he knew a threat when he saw it. He stayed right where he was on the bench and felt his hand tighten around the apple. 

The screeching sound of fingernails got louder and Louder and Louder and LOUDER and LOUDER and…

“CJ?”

It was Sammy. The big, brown blonde boy stood in front of him looking worried. Clancy shook off his fear and looked past Sammy but the bunny was nowhere to be seen. He looked down again, certain he would find his school shorts soaked with piss, but they were dry and his apple lay on the ground next to his feet, un-crushed.

“Wanna go read this new Spiderman comic I got?” Sammy asked. “I don’t really feel like exploring today.”

CJ nodded. The words he clutched at seemed to dart away too quickly for him to know what they were. 

Sammy always knew when something was wrong and he always knew when it was best to be quiet and not ask about those things. CJ was glad for that. He wanted to burrow into his friend. He wanted for there to be a space inside Sammy where he could hide — away from The Bunny. 

The comic was a good one. Lots of action and interesting bad guys and exciting moments where you didn’t know if Spidey was going to save the day or not. Or not.

The bell signalling the end of Big Lunch rang. Sammy put a good, heavy hand on CJ’s shoulder, but it wasn’t enough.

The Bunny was already back. 

It was waiting over beyond the far fence of the school oval, holding a red balloon. The awful thing was waving like a maniac.

~ ~ ~

After homework had been assigned and school let out, CJ was sure he would be ambushed as soon as he stepped out of the gate. Sammy caught the bus so he was all the way on the other side of the school — useless. 

CJ loitered near one of the thick cemented gate posts and prayed for his mum to be early.

And by some miracle, she was.

“Clancy!” she called from the car, “c’mon cutie, I’m parked in the loading zone. Quick quick!”

CJ felt relief wash over him like a warm bath. Nothing mattered as he sprinted to the car — not the wet bed, not the cold fear, not the red balloon — nothing. He was home-free and it was the best feeling he could remember ever having.

“Good day kiddo?” his mum asked.

CJ tossed his school pack onto the floor and buckled himself into his seat. “Sammy had a new Spiderman comic. It was awesome!”

His mum laughed and pulled the car out into school traffic. Everything felt better.

~ ~ ~

When they got home they found his dad asleep on the couch, and CJ’s mum held a finger to her lips —  quiet. 

CJ did his homework on the kitchen bench even though tomorrow was a holiday. It was easy, just some simple math and a few word game but it was a nice distraction to waste away the time until dinner.

When his dad roused it was, as always, funny to CJ. The big man would blink his eyes open lazily, and look around as if nothing made sense; as if nothing was the right way up or the right way round. CJ knew the feeling but he never imagined his dad could feel the same way as he did.

His dad spoke to his mum. “There’s a roast in the freezer baby. If you take it out and let it thaw we can have it tomorrow for lunch.”

CJ kept his focus on his homework, he wanted to stay here in this moment with his parents forever. 

“Clancy my boy, did you have a good day?”

CJ nodded, but his dad persisted.

“So, I know your mother said the Easter Bunny wasn’t going to come tonight, but…”

CJ felt a jolt of terror at the thought — “You promised he wouldn’t come!”

His mum turned where she was in the kitchen, confusion in her face. “Clancy baby, what’s wrong?! Are you okay?”

CJ folded up his homework and slipped it back into his folder. “Sorry mum. I just want to go to bed.”

“Do you not feel well?” his dad asked.

CJ was desperate to retreat and hide under his blankets. “I’m just tired. I’m sorry about this morning.”

His mum looked hurt. “Baby, we aren’t mad anymore. The Easter Bunny won’t come if you don’t want him to, okay? We aren’t mad. We just…we thought you still believed in him sweetness.”

CJ kissed his mum and dad goodnight, and wondered what ‘believing’ really meant. In his room he closed the window and the blinds and the cupboards and the bedroom door — even though he never did that. He usually like everything open. But he wanted to keep it out. 

He wanted to keep The Bunny out.

~ ~ ~

When he woke CJ was buried under a pile of blankets and pillows and he was soaked in sweat. At first he was worried he had wet himself again, but he didn’t have the heart to check properly. 

He smelled something strong, something strange, like burning. Smoke.

Down near his feet, the bed dipped away suddenly. CJ’s stomach dropped out of him and he carefully pulled back the blankets.

Sitting on the edge of his mattress, smoking a cigarette, it’s big red eyes gleaming, was The Bunny. It was staring at him and had one leg crossed over the other. It’s mouth peeled into a wide grin. 

“Hey buddy,” it said in a low voice. The Bunny flicked ash onto CJ’s carpet and tapped a furry hand on it’s furry knee. “I hope you weren’t expecting me to hop around or anything.”

CJ felt the piss soaking into his pyjamas.

This Is Getting Old

“Jerry, take your meds.” Ellen was thin, quiet, but not to messed with. 

He didn’t really care today. 

“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.” 

She was right — they had done this a thousand times, and it did always turn out the same way — but he was still going to put on the show. 

Just to keep her distracted. 

He opened his mouth to protest (or so Ellen would think) but then threw in the three little pills and took a gulp of tea from his cup. Then he made a big deal of swallowing and opening his mouth again to show that the pills were gone. 

Ellen looked at him like she looked at everything else — with eyes that could see but would never really care — then she turned on her heels and walked the med cart over to Beverley Lewis who was drooling down the front of the bib that was tied haphazardly around her wrinkled neck. 

Jerry drank the water from his plastic cup to wash away the heat from the tea. He watched as one of the pills bobbed up to the milky surface in his mug and wondered how he was going to fix that situation. Letting the capsules hit the roof of his mouth and then get sucked back with the rest of the tea was easy; getting rid of them was a whole different thing that he hadn’t really thought about until this point. 
 
“Butter cake, Mr Downs?” It was one of the morning shift trainees. Luke or something. He was holding a flimsy plastic plate with a thin piece of dry butter cake on it. 

Jerry looked up at the kid and had an idea. “My fly has a tea in it.” 

“I’m sorry Mr Downs?” Luke-or-something was confused. 

“I mean, apologies — my tea has a fly in it.” 

“Oh. Oh... I see. Would you like me to make you a fresh cup?” 

Jerry went to stand up. “No no. I can do it. You carry on kiddo. But be sure not to get your fingers too close to Bev’s chompers,” he winked. 

The kid shrugged and continued on his butter-cake-mission around the ring of stained plastic chairs that were the main attraction in the common room of Pandonia Lodge. 

With plenty of effort, Jerry hoisted himself out of his plastic chair and shuffled over to the tea cart that was parked near the nurse’s station. 

As he dumped his tea (and secret stash of pills) into the waste bucked, a pair of dark eyes and a short, thin, electric-purple mohawk appeared from behind the cart. 

“Dom!” Jerry hissed, and turned back quickly to see if anyone was looking. 

They weren’t — Ellen was rigid as always, talking to a tired-looking resident; Beverly Lewis was stuffing butter cake in between her dentures; and Luke-or-something was turned towards a window mucking with his phone. 

Jerry slowly turned back to the cart. The purple mohawk was gone and so he poured another cup of tea, but just as he was stirring in the half-spoon of sugar that he liked, he heard a whispering voice to his left. 

“Jeeeeeeeeeee-rrreeeeeeeee...”

He turned his head to see Dom in a backwards hand-stand against the wall down the hall. A huge grin peeled itself right across the kid's face. 
 
“Oh my God!” the Dom exclaimed, “I’ve been waiting, like, only forever for you."

All Jerry could think was that he was going to be in trouble. They were going to be in trouble. “Dominique, you can’t be here!” 

“Jesus. You always say that.”

Jerry stepped further into the hall — away from the common room. “I say it because it’s true.” 

“Oh, c’mon Grandpa. Live it up a little.”

Jerry didn’t like that. “Please don’t call me Grandpa.” 

Dom pushed himself off the wall and stood up-right, his purple mohawk bobbing sideways and then back again. “Sorry J. I’ll call you Nancy if you prefer. Either way — I have a plan,” Dom said, winking one of his dark eyes. 

Jerry was tired. “No, not tonight Dom. I have to get back to the common room and check in with Ellen.” 

“Fuck that. I have a better idea.” Dom winked again and took Jerry’s hand in his own.

The skinny purple-haired teenager dragged the old man further down the hall, away from the common room of Pandonia Lodge and the tedious staff and residents who milled there, wasting away their lives.
 
“Where are we going Dom?” 

“To complete the first stage of my plan, Nancy. You and I are getting out of this prison.” Dom dragged Jerry past the awful unisex bathrooms, the steaming hot kitchen, and the security desk — they headed right for the staff locker room and Dom produced a silver master key from him pocket. 

“Where did you get that?!” 

Dom shrugged. “Stole it from the nurse’s station, Nancy. Whatchya’ gonna do ‘bout it?”

Jerry felt a tumultuous mix of worry and excitement inside himself. “This is bad Dom. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re going to get caught.”
 
Dom waved his hand in Jerry’s face as he opened the locker room door and pushed inside. “Oh don’t be such a scaredy-cat Nancy. All we need is one set of car keys and we are outta-here!” 
 
With a glance behind him, Jerry had no choice but to follow the purple mohawk though the door and hope that no one saw them. Inside it smelled of sweat and socks and Indian food. Jerry felt the urge to hold his breath. “What do we even need a car for, Dom? We’re not going anywhere without the pass-code for the main door.” 

Dom brushed a hand down the line of smooth skin next to his mohawk. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, old man. You just leave that to me.” Dom turned quickly and started rifling through the myriad bags that lined the benches. When he found a jingling key chain in what looked like a bowling ball bag he jumped up on the bench with a wild ‘ah-ha!’. 

“Get down from there Dom,” Jerry protested, feeling all his seventy-three years coming down upon him at once. He wanted to have fun but now was not the time, and this was not the place. Pandonia Lodge was where he lived now and it commanded respect. He had already disobeyed the rules by not taking his pills — by lying — and now stealing was just another step out of line. 

Dom jumped down from the bench and looked at Jerry with big, crazy eyes. “Remember when you used to knock off early on Friday afternoons and bust me out of school and we would go to the beach down past Golden Cove — where you knew that no one would recognise us, so we wouldn’t get in trouble? Remember?” 

Jerry looked down. He remembered.

Dom jangled the keys in his hand and tousled Jerry’s wispy grey hair. “Golden Cove was always my favourite place. Always.”
 
The old man felt a big fat lump swell up in his throat. 

~~~

“Jesus! Jerry! Where the fuck do you even think you’re going?” Ellen was not herself for a moment — she was huffing and puffing and there was bright pink colour in her usually pallid, unreadable face. She stopped in front of the Vespa 400 and Jerry could see her process as she put herself back together. She straightened up. The calm came over her and it was enviable. Jerry was used to the panic, even in his old age, even now that there was nothing to lose. He always got the guilts so easily and couldn’t help but feel every eye on him despite being the only one in the room. 

If only he could find a calm like that.

Jerry gripped the steering wheel of the Vespa and looked across at Dom who had his feet up on the dash, and his chin down on his chest, and his arm crossed like a sullen child. Jerry remembered that Dominique had always been a sullen child. Naughty and then sullen. Naughty and then sullen. Sullen when caught. 

“Tell her, then. I know you’re going to.” Dom’s electric-purple mohawk brushed against the car’s roof as he spoke. 

Jerry looked back up at Ellen and the words came out far too softly. To the beach. 

 “I’m sorry Jerry,” she said coldly, “did you say something?”

“To the beach.”

“To the beach?” 

He nodded, “Mmhmmmm.” 

“To the beach,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. 

Jerry swallowed and tasted the freedom that was about to be taken from him. 

Ellen took a few steps forward and placed her hands on the Vespa. “Turn the engine off please, Jerry. We’re going back inside.” 

Jerry shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tighter — he didn’t want to go back inside. 

“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.” 
 
He looked up and saw her face was serious. His confusion must have been apparent. “I was going to the beach,” he protested. 

“Who were you going to the beach with?” she asked, motioning for Luke-or-something to step and in get Jerry out of the car. 

Jerry turned to Dom, who was still sulking, and then back to Ellen. Her face was unreadable and slightly distorted on the other side of the Vespa’s windshield. 

“Jerry, who were you going to the beach with?”

Jerry, feeling all of his seventy-three years hanging over him, was finally ready to go back to Pandonia Lodge. “I was going to go with Dom. It was his plan, after all.” 
 
Ellen’s face didn’t change. “Dominique has been dead for forty years Jerry. I’m sorry. And I need to ask another question.” 

Jerry knew what the next question was — “No. I didn’t take my meds,” he said, feeling tired all of a sudden. 

When Jerry looked back to the passenger seat, Dom was staring right at him and the electric-purple mohawk had drooped a little. “Dad, I’m sorry. I just wanted to go to the beach.” 

Jerry smiled. “I know kiddo. So did I.”

Untitled

Untitled

And they both went down into the water
         — Acts 8:38

How quietly and slowly it is, that
You waste me away
How surely it is, that
You waste me down to nothing
You grind me down to dust

Dig up what you’ve buried and it will only stink of earth and rot

Dig up what you’ve hidden and it will ruin you

How entirely it is, that
You use me up and take all of my love
I am emptied out; cavernous, now.
And how slowly it is, that
You fail to fill me up again.
How slowly it is, that
You

Dig right down into the heart of me

Dig up what you’ve tucked away and it will be your end

How surely it is, that
I am not the means to your end
And so you dig

You and dig
And dig
And your hole
It fills
With water
Me; I fill with water

I fill with water and how slowly it is, that
I fill with water and yet it is not you
Who fills me

I can’t breathe
And you can’t tell
How surely it is, that
I fill
How slowly it is, that
I drown

Dig up things you’ve stolen and they will burn you

Dig into your luck and it crumbles

How quietly and surely you waste my time
And waste my body
And waste
My soul

How slowly it is, that
You lean back
Fall back
Into the water

And you take me with you.