Controlled Burning


I’ve been hanging out with my husband for almost 24 years, after we met at a party. I thought him the most outrageous, irritatingly extrovert but magnetic man on Earth. I can’t get enough of him. He’s going away for months and months. I shall miss him.


Controlled Burning

[for Alex]

It’s the shed
that’s been worrying me
going out at night
to lock the door
with all the things
that lurk
in the veg patch
and the tools
so handy for murder
propped up
against the walls.
With big eyes and teeth?
Don’t mention them,
rats neither.
Tails as long as their bodies.
Stop it.
I’m serious
stop it.
Any living thing arrived upon unexpectedly:
I am not one for surprises
of a squeaking nature.
I could send a child
out there
but I did not set out
to have children
for protection
and it is hard enough
at 42
sleeping with the landing light on
in case one cries out
and I have to shuffle to their aid
at 3am.
Forget the shed.
I ought to be more mindful
of the controlled burning
laying waste to perfectly good scrubland
in order to save
the hot desire
of four weeks’ worth
of dry forest.
Trudi Murray 29.3.16

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