Monthly Archives: February 2023

least said…

Curiosity is an irritation,
an itch in the back of the mind.
Oh, the temptation to scratch it…
to break the heavy silence
between light and flippant remarks,
to type but not delete this time.
Don’t ask questions
you don’t want the answer to.
Better to let the irritation fade to a tickle,
than scratch it and leave an open wound.


Filed under poem

Good things only #5: last week’s highlights

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a “good things only” post. But last week had a few highlights I wanted to record.

On Thursday on my evening walk I noticed a bat hanging on the top strand of the barbed-wire fence. One prong of wire had gone through a wing and it was pretty well stuck. I thought it was dead, especially given it had been a really hot day and it must have been there since the previous night.  But when I started trying to get it loose, thinking I’d take it home for the kids to see, it turned its head and opened its mouth at me. I managed to get it loose and took it back to the house where it had a drink of water from an egg cup before flying away. I’d never held a bat before, or even seen one that close up. It was such a tiny, beautiful creature.


Then on Friday I got an unusual compliment. I think it was a compliment, anyway. As I was coming out of my office, someone knocking on the next door said “I like you hair! It’s the same colour as the undercoat on the F-35”. Which says something about my workplace… it may be frustrating to the point of infuriating at times, but it’s generally interesting at least.

Sunday was the Goulburn poultry auction. What more need be said? What could more exciting than that?  Even if none of the birds I bought can fly.  😀


Filed under prose

thank you for cleaning the bathroom sink

For the dVerse Valentine’s day prompt “come and state it plainly“, and for D.  

I don’t love you every day.
You know as well I do
that if I said so I would be lying.
There are days when the irritation
from brushing against each other
day after day
year after year
is like contact dermatitis,
that is never allowed to heal
but just gets more annoying,
until I have to scratch it.
But this constant abrasion
has carved us into shapes
that fit together.
Most days.



Filed under poem, Uncategorized