The
Plumbago Hedge
Our
mother grew a plumbago hedge.
The
mauve wispy flowers moved in the hot still air
And
was always in need of trimming.
We
want some privacy, our mother said
When
the next door neighbour came home drunk.
We
sat into the late evening
Watching
the picture crowd go home.
I'd
forgotten how hot it was in Northam.
We
ran a milking cow down the back on our half acre.
My
brothers took turns in milking
and left bowls of milk on the back of the
Metters.
Our
mother scooped the thick clotted cream
Over
stewed black plums
Picked
from the overhanging branches of the neighbour's tree.
A
high steel fence separates out neighbours this second time round.
The
air conditioners hammer into the night.
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