holidays …
back to our weekender
to the smells
of wet swimming costumes
and sand between our toes

the storm is over …
on the leaf-strewn lawn
the body
of a naked chick
with no sign of its nest

back home again
I witness my parents
in their autumn years
always niggling, niggling
over things that don’t matter

warm and snug
on a cold winter’s day
in Australia
she frets for her family
trapped in a refugee camp