SPIT & POLISH
How I hated the sizzling splash of phlegm
each morning as Mom lifted the black lid of our kitchen stove,
spitting into the burning wood flames.
I could forgive her home-rolled
Macdonald's tobacco cigarettes
dangling from the corner
of her firm mouth as she stirred
pots of soup, porridge, even gravy, ashes drifting finely to bubbling
pots or our flowered linoleum.
Those days, Mom's spit on corner
of her hankie wiped smudges or tears
from our chubby cheeks, just waiting for our Saturday turn with the one family bath water
in the same old galvanized tub.
Polish too quickly, too lightly,
and my teenage house work was labelled,
as Mom said, “just a lick and a promise” that would have to do until tomorrow;
not the shiny perfection of “spit & polish” with serious intent
on uncle's military boots.
ARMOUR
Walking alone allows
their annoying, sniffing, licking
dogs to hinder my stride,
while their silly snide asides
drill my ear drums,
shatter my thoughts.
Shutting up windows and doors
keeps their superior tones, even inferior pets, mediocre offspring, outside this wooden cabin, a sanctuary,
silencing their jealousy
of my places of peace.
Wrapping myself safely inside
my rusty station wagon,
believing glass, green vinyl,
especially enamelled metal will protect me against my neighbours,
I have the radio on high
so it smothers their complaints
of my missing muffler
as soon as I turn that key, stamp my gas pedal.
Now to develop heart armour –
• Bernice Lever is a Canadian poet. If you check out our reviews section, there is a report on her latest collection Never
A Straight Line (ISBN: 978-0-88753-438-6). For more info visit www.colourofwords.com