(inspired by a meme)
At Uni, we dabbled in discombobulation.
We gyrated through nightclubs
and sauntered past true knowledge,
too dizzy to really take it in.
Later, with a boyfriend, I faffed across the Nullabor
waking with a full moon in my eye
or making early-morning talk
with diamonted spider webs.
Out there, it is tempting
to defenestrate everything you know,
and turn your face to the sand-blasted wind,
so clean, it makes your eyes water.
A year in China and I was smitten
by the blossom of Oolong Cha,
by the song of Mandarin (or putonghua),
by my title of “Foreign Expert”…
but Australia called me home,
held aloft its eye-blue sky,
its coy wildlife peeks,
and the promise of my Nullabor Man.
These days, locked down by a pandemic
locked in by a mortgage
locked out by government obfuscation,
it’s easy to be ornery.
Instead, I wallow in wordplay,
frolic with family,
cherish our two children
and skirmish with sesqui-pedaliansim.
2 thoughts on “A Potted Memoir of Unusual Words”
Lovely use of language
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Thank you. 🙂