My Baby Bird

The day we met you sang to me,
Some random line from a pop song,
One I'd heard a million times before
And would somehow become our song.

How could it not be our song?

Of course I was gorgeous.
I had on that top you liked so much,
With the cute skirt to match,
The one that covered just enough to be suggestive.

You took me to see them play
For our first date -
The LeeStock Music Festival -
Those lyrical song birds took flight!

Listening to the ebb and flow of the music
Made my heart take flight
Unsteady baby steps at first
Like a bird fresh out of the nest.

For our first anniversary
You bought me that picture,
The one by Ms Ursin I fell for,
Even if it was just a print.

You said it reminded you of me,
Filled with all the sweetness
And innocence that can only be found
In a young chick scratching for bugs.

It reminded me of you as well -
Filled with the warmth of a summer day
But with a twinkle in the eye
That could only mean a touch of mischief.

Now I could not ask for anything more:
Not a thousand hours of songs
Nor a million masterpieces
Could match the gift you have given me.

That twinkle in you eye remains
Still bright after all these years,
Perhaps brighter for what we hold -
Our darling Baby Bird.

The Melbourne Cup Heist

The plan was as ingenious as it was devious
Yet there was one fatal flaw -
No-one suspected that there lurked
A traitor in their midst.

An undercover officer,
With years under her belt
And a solid understanding
Of the workings of the criminal mind.

Our hero had infiltrated,
Much to her colleagues surprise,
The most wanted group of low life scum
To ever grace a racing track.

Given the sorts of characters
Who frequent those types of places
It was no stretch of the imagination
To come up with these diabolical sorts.

And here they were before her.
And here she was with them.
Completely unnoticed
And holding all the cards.

She listened intently to conversations
And recorded every word.
The beauty of the saddle was
It hid a multitude of sins.

Well, only sins to them.
They would never understand the betrayal
But society would thank her
For the job she did unknown.

The discussion had been centred
Around that fateful Melbourne day
And the money that would be made
By such nefarious means.

A plan was afoot, alright,
To steal the cup away
And to take the winning loot
Without raising a cultured eyebrow.

The crop was swapped under the cover of dark,
The poor jockey completely unaware
Of the dastardly deed prepared
Which was to turn him into a killer.

The bets were laid far and wide
So as to not arouse suspicion.
The cumulative effect was such
That this crime would break the bank.

The racing began in earnest,
Each more important than the last,
Until that fateful race was called
To take their places for the run.

The jockeys took to their mounts,
The horses led, one by one,
To their predetermined gate
And locked in as per usual.

A hush came over the crowd
As they waited for the start
But what happened next was not expected
And was the cause of much consternation.

One of the horses broke free of it's gate.
The jockey was taken much by surprise.
The horse turned to face the others.
Was that a smile that now appeared?

A murmur went through the crowd,
Have you ever seen such a thing?
Then a collective gasp was heard
As the horse revealed himself.

For that Masked Marvel was none other
Than the brave and dutiful officer;
The name should have been a giveaway
but no-one could have guessed.

Dear John

I wanted to write you a letter
But it didn't seem appropriate
When you were such a pain in the arse
And now it's time to reciprocate.

I decided to do something else,
Something quite devilish, in fact.
I went to the doctor to ask for help
And didn't spare the tact.

The doctor gave me something
That I think will help me to mend,
A magic little potion
With you on the receiving end.

Because the doctor was a special one,
Not of the medical kind,
But of the mysterious persuasion
And could help me in my bind.

Now every time you sit down
I hope you'll think of me
As those little pockets of pain
Fill me with such glee.

You'll never know how I managed it,
My neat little trick -
A dose of your own medicine
Because you were a dick.

Or maybe I should use a different phrase,
One a little closer to home
After all, you were an arsehole,
And this is a wonderful syndrome.

I hope the irritation comes
In heaps and mounds and piles
Because the thought of it
Has given me endless smiles.

Sweet Memory

I wish I could forget that day,
Like I have so many other days,
So many better days that should be remembered
Rather than this day, of all days.

It was a Tuesday morning.
So ordinary and dull.
Like every other Tuesday morning.
Only it wasn't, and never would be.

Where the memory takes us is beyond our control,
It trips and stumbles on those random snippets -
The colour of your tie, what you had for breakfast -
But leaves behind that which everyone else recalls.

I didn't remember that the war had ended.
I didn't remember which horse won.
I didn't remember who was leading the country.
But I remembered you spilled jam on that awful yellow tie.

Only it wasn't jam.
It was something else.
It was that horrific red.
The kind that drips and drips and drips.

Maybe I heard you fall forward in your chair.
In my head there is only silence.
Your face pressed against the table.
I must have screamed but in my head was silence.

I remember that young man from next door.
Jack? John? Jeremy?
His eyes were bright blue in front of me.
He slapped me. That young man struck my cheek.

I don't remember the sting.
It must have stung, mustn't it?
His eyes looked so apologetic.
I remember forgiving those eyes.

I remember the interminable wait.
Days I sat there waiting.
Only minutes really. Not even an hour.
Until they came for you.

You remember that china vase you mother gave us,
the one which never seemed to match anything.
I broke it.
I don't remember doing it, but there it is.

I can see the kitchen as if I'm sitting in it now.
That striped wallpaper you said would liven up the room
But all it did was give me a headache
Until it finally faded.

I thought you might fade.
How the corner of your mouth would twitch
When you remembered something amusing.
But it's still bright in my mind.

The scream of the ambulance in the driveway.
That doesn't fade, either.
There's no other sound in the world.
Only that constant scream.

I must remember to clean up that vase.
Someone will step on it.
They will cut their foot on the broken pieces.
The pieces that aren't there anymore.

Of course it's not there now.
The young man picked it up.
Yesterday? Last week? A year ago?
I don't remember.

I remember breaking it.
It shattered as it struck the wall.
I can hear the siren screaming still.
Only there's no-one here but me.

No-one else to blame for that mess.
No-one else to yell at, to laugh with, to cry with.
No-one else to hug until I fall asleep.
No-one else but the silence.

I'm glad you can't remember the silence.
That terrible deafening silence.
The silence that filled my mind.
That dreaded silence that pulled me into the void.

I wanted to forget.
I wanted to slip away unnoticed.
That young man wouldn't let me.
He shouted at me. He struck my cheek.

I don't remember how I got here.
I don't remember where here is.
I don't remember why it's important.
Sometimes I don't remember that I've forgotten.

But that drop of jam on that awful yellow tie.
That drop of jam that isn't jam.
I don't remember what it should be.
Why can't it just be jam?