.................................
east cape electrical
.................................

boreholes gone dry

and our creaking farm is burnt
on the underside of
earth.

shrivelled in gonadic heat,
my body lubricates

lubricates
lemonade sweat between
my breasts.

i fetch water from the fire station

past east cape electrical
(wiring, contracting, repairs)

round oily corners where men
fix punctures under

acres of heat.

so much manual labour on such a
hot day.

beneath the truck
with the stuffed clutch

scorpions terrorise farm roads
and i have tripped over the snake on

the stairs

twice in two weeks.

 
.................................
bog
.................................

from the newly delivered bog,
tadpoles i will ladle
into pickled jars from nuts and
jam.

watch them -

watch their feet snout out
the glue of slimpy motion.

through the desert
i motor in bandaged shoes -

an iguana
deep on miles of no one,
has soles of a dog
paddy across a tongued up road.

everyday

i too am watching
these bananas at the end of
my legs,

jack like a beanstalk growing
as i run into my own.

while women lie battered
in fish cloth fry,

i in complete balmy feet

listen while the moon
cubes the skies.

.................................
Helen Walne
.................................

 
Copyright © Helen Walne
March 1996

...a poem in this room by Connie Walle...
My Good Name
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