of tote-bags and suitcases
into the tied-down boot
of our Vauxhall Viva,
wedging all four sisters
onto the backseat
perched on the pull-down
pow-wows of smoke
from Dad puffing a havanna
plume my eyes raw –
ponies cantering across
a New Forest road
make him break sharply
thumping my head
against his leatherette seat
somewhere near Southbourne
a first sighting of the sea
makes one of us a winner
tinned grapefruit segments
are served in the dining-room
once Dad has stretched his legs.
Sally Michaelson is a conference interpreter in Brussels. Her poems have been published in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Lighthouse, Algebra of Owls, The Bangor Literary Journal and Amethyst.
