To My Father

You are a chutney man
this is how I will remember you
smelling of plums and nutmeg and tamarillo
that odd crimson fruit
bitter and sweet in one taste

when you are not finding the essence
you go fishing
returning home with a generous catch
even the trout are drawn irresistibly
to the heavy scent
of red fruit and spices

Casual

You turn and see the cautious shoulderblade. The way
the light edge is thin like sound. You know you should
be sensible and leave now and say thanks it's been fun
and dress with dignity and close the door behind you
when you leave. But a child cries outside the window
and a thigh rides soft on your hip and you notice the
scar over her left eye. And before you can help yourself
you touch its small courage and she opens her eyes
and smiles.