A poem by Julie Maclean

 
U plain

every night when spring gets going
we sit outside in fold-up chairs,
yours ripped from being left out in the weather,
mine hanging in by a thread

you watch dragon flies like micro choppers
on some reconnaissance or other       I admire
the sass of lily buds       baby maggies teetering on
the brink of their first bath       wattle birds in cirque
de soleil with kangaroo paw in a double act

You feed the fish that coil and flick in their rush
to be fed with their open-shut poppy gobs
I dead-head the odd drooped flower, pull a
weed or two out of the path

We drink a few reds       knit the days together
you plain,       me purl
your rows are always the same
I drop stitches and have to start again

You cast off         it starts to rain

(first published in Rabbit Poetry Journal, 2011)
 
Julie Maclean, from Bristol, UK, is based on the Surf Coast, Australia. In 2012 she was shortlisted for The Crashaw Prize (Salt Publishing) and PressPress Prize. Her chapbook, When I Saw Jimi, is forthcoming from Indigo Dreams Publishing (UK) in 2013.