I knew I loved her...

She wears baggy pants

and a white lace top to school.

She has ink-black hair,

tied in two pony tails.

She’s the quickest in Maths.

She can spell archa …

arhco …

acrho …

She can spell lots of big words.

She played the Queen in the school play.

I was her humble servant.

She was elected school captain.

I voted for her (twice!).

She knows the capital of Tanzania.

She knows who invented the telephone.

I ring her home – it’s always engaged.

She knows the history of Ancient Egypt.

She knows how flowers grow.

I pick them for her – they die before I work up the courage.

But after all this

I only realised I loved her

when

during Friday’s game

as the ball came across

she pivoted on one leg

and volleyed it into the net

and we won the Final

with that goal

and then I was sure,

I know that I loved her.

The Big River

at Hobson’s Bend,

takes a slow look

at the houses on stilts

with timber creaking, paint flaking,

at the graveyard hushed

in the lonely shade,

at the fruit bats

dropping mango pulp

into the undergrowth,

at the foundry, and sawmill

grinding under a blazing sun,

at the pub with welcoming verandahs

shaded in wisteria vine,

at Durra Creek surrendering

to the incessant flow,

at Pearce Swamp upstream

on the creek among the willows

and rivergum,

at the storm clouds

rumbling over Rookwood Hill,

at the two boys

casting a line

on the crumbling bank,

at the cow fields

purple with Paterson’s curse,

at the jammed tree-trunks

washed down after summer thunder,

at the shop

with dead flies in the window display,

at the mosquito mangroves

and the sucking sound of mud crabs,

at the children throwing mulberries

the stain like lipstick.

The big river

rolls past our town,

takes a slow look,

and rolls away.