I wish, planet, I could summon
a polemic to save you
as you ratchet up the hours
like an overtired child
and your parents, your caretakers
meaning ourselves
lose our cool again and again
all of us overheating
including you
and so we are shamed into blather
how you the planet
make it all too hard for us to love you
prickly heat between your relic tree-trunk thighs
thistles in your armpit valleys
not forgetting all the drones and missiles
fizzing round our heads like besotted bees.
Sure, not your own initiative
but always blame the child
when the child becomes impossible.
Remember, that’s you.
Forgive us. You have to save yourself.

Nicola Bowery


Nicola Bowery’s most recent poetry collection is married to this ground (Walleah Press 2014). Her two previous collections are Goatfish (Bunda Press 2007) and Bloodwood (Bunda Press 1996). She lives in the New South Wales Southern Tablelands.

© 2018