Worlds Apart

She lives in the house
on the end of the street
the one with the paved driveway
and green awning frame
taking its place amongst
the other houses of the same ilk

the one with the smashed windows
covered with newspaper
and rusty keyhole inset into the door
like a moth on a calico curtain

surrounded by fruit trees

bushy and ripening with pomegranates
lemons and oranges, overhanging cement
paths with fluoro lines marking places to repair

surrounded by rubbish and debris
plastic containers and old shoes
from neighbours, tossed away with disregard
taking their place in the pile

worlds apart
but the same heart.

Window

I’m sure the grass was greener on that day
and the window, iridescent in the sunlight
until the next ball.

The delivery, was one and the same
leaving the hand, a deep inflection
onto the bat with force and vigour.

An outside edge, flying above the guard
the kitchen window took the brunt
it could not stand the tension,
the sudden onslaught.

It broke.

Stunned onlookers stood mesmerized
the smashed glass formed crystals
seasoning the food with sharp objects
that now needed to be dislodged.

The fielders gathered from around the yard
heads hanging as low as the udders
of the cows that grazed nearby.

One flick of the wrist
is all it took, and they knew.
They couldn’t play here again.

The grass faded, desiccating in the hot
summer sun and the iridescence
replaced with destruction

in need of repair and convalescence.

Michelle Juers is an Adelaide IT professional who loves to spend time away from the computer screen, both writing poetry and hiking. More of her poetry can be found at www.cinnamontheory.com.

Readers’ original and unpublished poems of up to 40 lines can be emailed, with postal address, to [email protected]. A poetry book will be awarded to each contributor.