BACKSEAT HOLIDAY
The wheel of life has turned and fully spun
and once again I’m sitting in the back,
lost in a book or staring at railway tracks
and paddocks with sheep grazing in the sun.
I’ve returned to childhood: I’m not the one
guiding the car, now that there’s no lack
of drivers in the family−four to be exact.
My husband is asleep; at the wheel our son
stays alert in the way my parents did
on our yearly Adelaide to Melbourne drives,
while my brothers and I shared games and treats
and took it all for granted, as we do as kids.
Once again, we have rearranged our lives;
almost without noticing, we have swapped seats.
and once again I’m sitting in the back,
lost in a book or staring at railway tracks
and paddocks with sheep grazing in the sun.
I’ve returned to childhood: I’m not the one
guiding the car, now that there’s no lack
of drivers in the family−four to be exact.
My husband is asleep; at the wheel our son
stays alert in the way my parents did
on our yearly Adelaide to Melbourne drives,
while my brothers and I shared games and treats
and took it all for granted, as we do as kids.
Once again, we have rearranged our lives;
almost without noticing, we have swapped seats.
Claire Watson lives on Arrernte land in Alice Springs. Her poems have been published by various Australian and overseas journals including The Weekend Australian, Meniscus and Meanjin. Her memoir, Fingerprints of Grace, was published in 2017.