A Mother and her Unlost Son It took ten years – now, you’re all back inside me I’ve absorbed you like vitamins nothing has been left out, overlooked or forgotten that I know anything of. You are mainly in my chest, a second pericardium but everywhere spleen and pancreas. You are the unexpected spring I sometimes get in my step. We still talk, of course, but not as much as once no need, we know. And so you live in your mother’s body once again not as foetus, but phlegm and black bile. They’ve Sold The Snowtown Bank On the land of the Kaurna people, go through The Gap in the Barunga Range to get to Snowtown. It started as a station on the Brinkworth–Walarroo line. There’s no snow, it was the name of the Governor’s mate. They grow wheat and mine salt at Lake Bumbunga, but times change and now they’ve got a wind farm. The Snowtown Area School on Glen Davidson Drive has a good bit of ground for ‘Agricultural Studies’. The bank closed years ago. They’ve sold it to out–of–towners who want to start a new business. A Trip to the Tip We had a television for the tip Old, heavy as a mountain, though still going. But too bulky and it didn’t fit The space left by the new skirting. With betrayal in my heart we trolleyed It to the car, hearsed it off and Paid ten dollars to the man employed To take a good TV off your hands. It was put down beside an orange witch’s hat Which was the only spot of gaiety that day. The crows were undaunted by the tip cat And sulky standing gulls had naught to say. We live in fear of being replaced By a slimmer one with a better face. Taking Stock I started at the edges of my mind sweeping my original thoughts into an ankle high pile in the middle. Mostly they were dry dusty particles that billowed When pushed too fast by the broom, with some special white ones Like salt crystals and some even more promising bigger ones Sparkling like grains of sugar. A dust pan in one hand and a kitchen strainer in the other I dug the pan under and fork lifted my ideas Into the