your mother is a shopping cart

in a newly-paved parking lot,

a little apart (see there)

from the other shopping carts.
and behind that cart

is a big old car, and that

is your mother also,

now that she’s older –

a hulking great safari beast,

a 4WD that knows it’s not new.
your mother was new to town, wasn’t she?

once, and on the lookout

for a good hairdresser

who’d treat her early greys with style,

and sensitivity.
remember –

your mother’s not a well.

she doesn’t just dry up.

even though you threw

a bucket at her that time

which was plasticine

and empty (thank god).
hey! ew!

your mum threw up

a small pile of puke

in the front-row seats

at the cineplex,

where your dad chose the movie

(before he declared himself missing).
luke! i am your mother!

declared your mother to herself.

she always hissed at the screen

during credits, and cackled

all the way home.

yeah, look, she’s been acting

real strange lately.
but still,

your mother was a financier.

and you lived in that big fancy house

and she wore the best linen suits

(we all stared)

through all 38 degrees

of her endless fever. remember –

how she’d come back from work

her lips cracked from yelling:

high risk or no reward!

did your mother ever tell you

she rode a bull into town

as a little girl?
yep yep yep

your mother was a little girl

no denying it

who pushed a bigger girl

into bitumen for the fun of it

and the big girl tried to eat her.

but your mother,

she found a way out –

through stomach or through elsewhere.

she was always resourceful.

she was … fighting spirit.

she made a tunnel

to smuggle out all the goods.

yeah that’s your mater on wartime radio!

a voice in the background,

a queen of the playground.
okay hey! look,

your mama wasn’t very nice to my mama

(been trying not to mention this but)

and look, my mama probably started it.

she probably wanted

those dollar-dollar-bills

that your mama kept in her secret vault

for those rainy days so

when the water main burst

through the combination lock

and the house became a splintering boat,

you would still be okay.

we had watched them work
all over her.

one last go

on your ma,

or my ma,

as she was also known.
well, look at that

big balloon go!

a red heart glowing

against a dark sky.

that’s just light pollution,

she would have said,

turning a pink balloon crimson.

don’t let the sight of it carry you away

(you’re so sentimental).

and then your mother

would have laughed

to my mother. the pair

or the two or the whole of them going off,

like a bloody broken record.