Kay McKenzie Cooke, Poet.

Despite all that must be done, I've ducked out of workload and into catch-up mode throughout the day and here is a little more treasure found.

I haven't asked Kay if I could post her poem on but I feel compelled to share her delightful poem, linking you back to the place where you can find more and/or purchase her collections of poetry in book form.

all that

The last to leave home, we’ll miss
his unwashed frying pan
thick with the amber lace of fried egg,

the abandoned, empty shoes looking helpless
and far too big for any son of ours.
His choice of adjectives; ‘wicked’ and ‘primo’;

the verb ‘gutted’, the phrase ‘pretty much sucks’.
The 4.00 a.m Sunday morning clank and creak
up the narrow hallway.

The toilet light left on all night, a blaring, lighthouse
-globe to guide moths through the peril
of open louvres. Yes, we’ll miss all that, plus

stretched out on the couch his crashed, sleeping body;
the tender snoring, his long, hairy legs
as sweet as baby pungas.

* pungas - a tree fern native to New Zealand with a characteristic 'hairy' trunk.

Kay McKenzie Cooke.