Beach Balls, Rabbits & Heads

rabbit

You haven’t got your head up your arse

Or in the clouds any more, he said,

But firmly secured where it should be.

Atop my shoulders? I suggested.

But my big brother was right.

I was a dreamy kid but when the hormones kicked in— boy!!

My head was every which way but loose.

It was like a beach ball bobbing along

On choppy waves,

A dog chasing after every rabbit which crossed

its path.

I’m still a bit like that but the hormones

Are quieter now

& if I don’t watch it I still find myself

Head up the arse or in the clouds,

A head’s gotta go somewhere.

Buddhist Fly

 

buddha

 

We drove to the Buddhist temple

At sunset.

A hot breeze blew in

From the north.

Clouds of insects rose

In reverence.

One, a fly, landed on my nose

And would not

Go away.

I gave it the good old Aussie salute

A few times

To no avail,

Making me wonder whether

One should swat

A Buddhist fly

Or merely contemplate it?

The Buddha looked on.

 

 

 

Shuddering Flanks

 

looking at stars

There’s something about a cold, starlit night that gets me going: the glitter of the galaxies, the pixie dust of the Milky Way, the motherly eye of the moon, the peace, a full stomach. I drift to the back of the yard past the reach of the kitchen light and stand by the lemon tree — I’m told it’s always good to do it there. My flanks begin to shudder as I unzip and I piss like a stallion, throw my head back and neigh.