I keep men waiting

as my father before me

kept us waiting.

my brother and I were always standing by the sidewalk

on tenterhooks, our need like a big red tongue

hanging out and panting

for a drop of rain

in drought.

bills were never paid in our house.

our landlord (a nice man) waited months

before he told my mother

the rent hadn’t been paid.

we spent a whole childhood

outside houses

fighting in our father’s car

while women served our father

(such a nice man)

coffee and cake.

the day was drawn out

as a watched kettle.

we were boiling.

we wanted our lives

to take off, like a train

with a clear destination.

instead, we rearranged things

round our father,

believing every time

a he’d turn up

but finding ourselves

always alone on a platform

watching trains pull out

without us.

now I call myself feminist

and make the men I live with
pay.

it’s taken a lifetime to learn

my father’s promises are full

of air and leave us steaming.

and yet he’s so well-meaning.

yes he’s a man who means well,

he tells us all

‘leave it with me.’

we spend the rest of our lives

trying not to.
 


*Gayelene Carbis is a Melbourne based writer and teacher who was awarded a Poetry Scholarship in Banff, Canada, has recently completed her first poetry collection and is writing a one-woman show for Clara Pagone, to be performed in New York, Chicago and Melbourne.
**Kettle image by Shutterstock
***Taken from http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=43729#.VS0E4Rwk-6V