Coral Hull: Poetry: William's Mongrels: Sharpies

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: WILLIAM'S MONGRELS
SHARPIES

we decide to have a picnic/ on the way home from
school/ we settle down/ beneath a council gum/ in
front of someone's frontyard/ diane spreads out a
brown & yellow chequered tea towel/ over december
thistles & hidden bindis/ it is very hot/ the tea
towel is soft against our legs/ our uniforms short/
we have saved half our lunch/ diane's homemade cup
cakes/ with sour mock cream/ half a plastic bottle
of iced red cordial/ a vegemite sandwich on thick
white bread/ two chocolate wheatens wrapped in wax
paper & a soapy orange/ diane has saved her salt 'n'
vinegar chip crumbs/ i liked them the best/ because
that's where the flavour was strongest/ i always
said: save me the crumbs diane/ save me the crumbs/
& she always did/ we picked a quiet street/ off gill
avenue/ in case our parents came looking for us/
more than likely/ it would be diane's parents/ who
were over protective/ & we ate/ & we gossiped/ &
no one bothered us/ & then it was 5.30 p.m./ we packed
up real quick/ & diane went home & got into trouble/
& when i got home/ mum was cleaning the kitchen
blinds/ & she didn't even look at me/ as she asked:
where have you been?/
                                 our primary school relief
teacher/ mrs hay/ tells us/ that she keeps a lot of
cats/ she is fifty years old/ she sits in front of
the class/ her legs wide apart/ & tells us stories/
& we could all see her undies/ big white ones/ with
thick elastic/ & there was blood/ on the front of
them/ none of us knew what had happened to her/ she
was so big & old/ & so boisterous/ none of us talked
whilst she was talking/ mrs hay tells us/ about
girls 'n' boys being kidnapped/ & put into glad bags/
into car boots/ & about their underpants/ & what
had been done to them/ & about the mother crying
on the news who said/ that her little girl/ always had
a clean frock on/ & her father who said: i washed her
socks every night/ children dumped/ in ditches/ off
the road/ down by shady creeks/ where no one went/
in their singlets/ & underpants/ mrs hay says: never
talk to strangers/ & warren lewington asks: is the
easter bunny okay?/ & was santa okay/ to talk to at
christmas?/ & she never answered straight off/ &
suddenly/ none of us really knew how safe the easter
bunny was/
                 friday afternoon/ after school/ diane's
mother gets tiddly/ & cooks us raspberry jam tarts/
she tells us about strangers/ & what they do to
children/ on school holidays/ my grandmother/ makes
me pray for lost children/ last seen together/ a
brother & sister & friend/ on a beach/ in south
australia/ their parents looking for them/ & me
praying/ that jesus/ friend of all children/ would
bring them back/ diane's mother tells us/ how they
find the skulls of children/ buried in the bush/ &
sometimes little pairs of grey school shorts/ &
another time a boy's tooth/ he must have been very
frightened/ he must have run through the bush/ to
get away/ children run a lot/ & mostly are very fast/
at school/ we practice our running in the playground/
& we climb the monkey bars/ we pretend that a
sharpie is after us/ & some of the older kids/ show
me a sharpie's footprint/ embedded in the stone roof/
of the girls' toilets/ i could just about make it out/
but then a big huntsman/ scampered out of a corner/
& we all screamed & ran out into the playground to
play hopscotch/
                       at playlunch/ we stand along the
wire fence/ on the very edge/ of the school
playground/ on sharpie patrol/ the teachers had
told us/ to keep an eye out for sharpies/ & to
report any sightings/ to the local head mistress/
no one could be trusted/ gnarled old women/ with
their shopping trolleys/ waved at us/ from across
the street/ passing truck drivers/ honked their
horns/ on their way through/ to the blue mountains/
& we all jumped up & down & squealed in the wind/
then we got bored with looking for sharpies & played
skipping/ at home time/ the german bus driver/ who
makes us sit three to a seat/ who sometimes squashes
us four to a seat/ even though half the bus is empty/
so that the corners of our square brown school bags/
scratch our legs/ well/ we call him 'sharpie'/ because
that is exactly what a sharpie would do/ if he was
a bus driver/ & when he is not working/ for neville's
private bus company/ we know he is a sharpie

    

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