a jetty on an accidental pond

on a cattle farm in south africa
pockmarked with waterholes
fish plop, and memories stop

there is a hole in me
where 'you' used to be
tee hee

innuendo
as i fall into wry acceptance
of the oldest cliche in the world.

must go now

they're leaving for the day's adventures
about to jump off trees
for enjoyment!

i gather the beginnings and endings
of little stories that have spun themselves as i sit dangling my feet over still water
spun around the wooden planks, in the reeds, above the clouds, around my neck

and promise to avoid writing lame poetry when i get home to the internet.