Haiku review of Elizabeth Costello

Cerebral ramblings
of an old woman without
God. I stopped reading.

SUKHUMVIT

I look down on them
from the bus
window open
red light
looking
The taxi driver
I see his face and
he sees mine
looks away
Four brown legs
one brown, slim back
and shoulders, one young
chest, breasts
pushed up,
One paunch in a checked shirt.
His fair arm
fat and foreign.
fat hand reaches, creeps
up one brown leg.
I am still looking
down on them
Green light and
Taxi moves
Bus takes me
home.

Poda Poda spring/summer 2007

Clock poem

A clock in my kitchen

always kept the time

until one day

the clocks went back

and left my clock behind.

Neglected and ignored,

its numbers were inaccurate.

The family favoured the newer clock;

its timekeeping was immaculate.

Poor little clock

got a nasty shock -

it plum thought it was three

but this was not to be:

the other clocks said two

and my sad little clock found it quite the catastrophe.

If it had had a voice it would have shouted

"Jammy gits!"

If it had had a fist it would have smashed the new clock's bits.

But it didn't.

It just sat there feeling very small

and pretty soon we had forgotten 

it was ever there

at all.

Mak Eng