Rowan Taigel

The Curve

Late afternoon, as she lazes

at the grassy edge of the cul de sac,

those teenage boys

come in their muscle cars, hooning

up the road, a wall of engine noise,

dust and testosterone.

Her mother’s silhouette

appears at the window above the sink

radiating outrage as they roar

around the bend towards her,

three cars with wide-set tyres

bodies low to the ground

devouring the road so fast

they might suck her in

as they hit the curve, time slows-

the rear of the lead car pivots

in a glistening arc

and holding the driver’s gaze through

the hot spray of gravel, her cheeks

flush at his slow smile and the scent

of rubber, petrol and power

they are gone in an instant

and she’s left panting

in the ringing silence,

warm pulse between her thighs,

refusing the hook

of her mother’s eye.

Mothers & Fathers

we lay on the bed facing

each other like grownups after

he rolled off me sending

eddies of dust motes upward

we felt beyond our years

sepia beams from the little window catching

the overturned apple crate for a table,

dented metal teapot and china teacup,

with its cracked, grey lifeline

as we’d rehearsed, I’d put the baby to bed

he’d tell me about his day at work

I’d bring him cups of tea

in the abandoned shed we’d claimed for a hut

then I’d lie down on my back and wait

to feel his body fill my hollows like concrete

he’d kiss me, move his tongue around

the way French people do, soft, insistent probing

the newspaper stuffed in the crack between

wall and ceiling, pale, like the underside of an arm

air pressed from my lungs, he lay on top

of me on the mattress beside

the mauve satin curtain I’d sometimes pull

away from the window and tuck around myself

like a tent, the inside of a hot air balloon,

a parachute before catching a fall.

Catch and Kiss

Before a bullrush of boys

she ran, elbows bent, palms

held vertical in surrender

and I followed her

our pathetic zigzagging

a sexy self-sabotage

glancing back over our shoulders

lips glossed pink like secrets

bangles jingling on electrified arms

she “tripped” before I knew it

and as I overshot her mark

my shoulders braced, anticipating

hands, fingers, hot breath, mouths

I slowed and turned, alone.

Arms and legs pinned into

the rucked grass, her throat

giggled as the cutest boy in school

planted his lips over hers

the primal white of her eyes

just like our wild mare’s

in the back paddock before dad

broke her in

after they let her up, we ran

away towards the classroom

away from the backdrop of

cheers and high fives

panting, she told me how lucky

she felt that he’d kissed her

my mouth moved with a girl’s voice

I no longer knew,

So lucky, I said...

so lucky.