I don’t often post poetry, or anything like that.
It’s how I started this writing thing of mine. Alot of crap poetry came out of that. Heh.
Anyway, I’ve had a crap day. Monday shmonday, go to hell you shit day…
Anyway, there’s two things that turned this day around.
1. Cammertime.
2. A candyfloss voice on the end of the phone that reminds me I am not crap.
My point?
I wrote this on an aeroplane to Cape Town about six months ago.
Zephyr.
You are not what I expected.
You are all that I can think of and,
my mind is doing cartwheels, backwards,
at the simple joy of
this.
It’s my turn. It’s my turn. It’s my turn. I cannot wait.
I clap my hands, go giddy and grin.
The sparkle, the stars falling out of my eyes.
It’s my turn. Thank heavens, I waited long enough.
It’s my turn.
Go, go merry-go-round.
I grab that pole, swing myself upon that horse and wave as the world tumbles on by.
Faster and faster and faster still.
Go, go go, merry-go-round.
I am a child again.
You can tell me about Santa and I’ll believe you.
You can make me eat my vegetables and threaten me with no dessert.
I’ll go exploring in the back garden.
Pull on my galoshes and jump into the true middle of puddles.
I’ll take my naps and be polite.
I’ll share my toys and I won’t laugh when that other kid falls down from dizziness.
I’ll be good.
I’ll be so good.
Because it’s my turn.
I’ll eat my carrots, go to bed on time.
I’ll do my homework and love my teddy bears.
I’ll wear my slippers and sing those rhymes so loudly you’ll hear them in your head all day.
I’ll be good.
I’ll be so good.
Because it’s my turn.