a bulldog called Angel is
outside the polling booth
and who is her owner?
someone called Fiona
gone in to tick the slip
say hi to the old lady
with the poorly hip, ask
after Jack who canned
out skating Rona Street
fold the slip, drop
it in the box – and that’s
it, except for this:
she walks into the bright
day, shading her eyes
and Angel is waiting
a demented wiggle of white --
and off they go, the two
of them, side by side
perpetual
around the bend
in the road
mary mccallum
Another poem that's been around for awhile. I realised as I went to post it, that I've written something with a similar theme - which was posted here and on the Booksellers website - called How she holds her head. It's about my friend Christina at the carpark in Pak'n Save ...
arms swinging unhurried and wide nothing in her hands but rings
no child
no wallet no cell phone not a damned thing
and a back so
straight and strong you knew it could without any
trouble
support a pair of wings
Go figure. And while you're working out why I see angels everywhere, go and check out the communal birthday poem at the Tuesday Poem hub. It's a fantastic creature written by 26 of us - line by line - over the week. It was so much fun to be part of and the end result is astonishing - no angels but lots of gods in that one. And then cast your eye to the sidebar with a whole host of wonderful poets from many countries - with their own poems and poems they love. Worth a visit for sure - and while you're there have a piece of cake.
