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CONTENTS
my family
1 My name
2 My family (the dream one)
3 My family (the real one)
4 My family (the truth)
5 Sex, sport, & nose hair
6 Desiree on sex
7 Another poem on sex, sport, & nose hair
8 A writer
9 The great poem
10 Love is like a gobstopper
11 Desiree on facial hair
12 Violence in the family
there’s a ghost in our house
13 Cancer
14 Don’t believe
15 The photo
16 The family holiday
17 There’s a ghost in our house
18 Shoes, socks, the lock on the bathroom door
19 Coooeee
20 Dad writes poetry
21 The family team
22 The cubbyhouse
23 Wine
24 Signature
25 Katoomba
26 The new teacher
27 Shiver
the wild orchard
28 Valentine’s day
29 Annabel on Jack
30 I kiss Annabel’s photo
31 There’s more to life than Annabel
32 First date
33 Annabel writes poetry!
34 Annabel
35 Annabel and the ghost
36 The ghost is away
37 The fireplace
38 Ezra finds the hut
39 Megalong creek hut
40 Annabel and the wild orchard
making a living
41 The funeral
42 Desiree
43 Careers
44 Selling up
45 The wreck
46 Dad didn’t come home last night
47 Sunday lunch
48 The earthquake
49 What I do for a living
50 All her brain cells
51 Solo Desiree
52 The ghost spoke to me last night
53 Father of the year
54 Annabel writes a poem for english
55 Winter Annabel
echoes
56 My son is seeing a girl
57 Sex, sport, and nose hair (according to Annabel)
58 Blue mountains school
59 Bloody rain
60 Confessions
61 The right reasons
62 The bike ride
63 Monday, the last before holidays
64 Ms Curling
65 Annabel kisses
66 It’s easy
67 37 lines
68 Telling the ghost
69 Echoes
About Steven Herrick
Dedicated to the backyard cricket pitch at Katoomba.
My Family
My name
My name is Jack
not Jackson
or Jackie
not Jack-in-the-box
laughing like an echo
not hit the road Jack
not Jack the rat
or Jack, go wash your face
or Jack rabbit
lifting my head to get shot
or Jacqueline
not Jack of all trades
master of none
or car Jack
or Jack Frost
not Jackpot
the name of a loser
or Jackboot
or Jacktar
or Jackknife
or Jacket
something to wrap yourself in
not just Jack
or Jack of hearts
but
JACK
OK?
My family (the dream one)
There’s my Dad
dressed in his best blue suit
counting his money ($10,000, $11,000, $12,000 . . .)
My Mum
she’ll be home soon
she’s starring in another movie
so she’s acting late.
And my sister? she’s away.
She’s a Nun, helping the poor in Africa
they had her on 60 Minutes last week
Saint Sister they call her.
My brother?
he’s outside polishing his Porsche.
And me
I’m just starting my maths homework.
I love maths.
My family (the real one)
There’s my Dad
snoring in his chair, still in his work clothes
sleeping without a shower for the third day running.
My Mum
she’s wearing those pink curlers in her hair
looks like a Space Cadet to me.
And my sister’s in the bathroom
she’s dyeing her hair orange
I think it’ll suit her.
My brother?
he’s in jail, we expect him home next year.
And I’m here writing this, watching the footy on TV
and doing everything possible to avoid
homework.
My family (the truth)
Actually, truth be known
they’re both wrong.
I live with my Dad
and my sister.
My Dad works at a newspaper
he says he tells “edited lies” all day
he’s a journalist
which means I never see him.
He leaves home at 7am
and returns at night
smelling of cigarette smoke and defeat.
He walks in
reheats the dinner
and asks me if I’ve done my homework.
He’s OK though.
He talks to me on the weekends
and that’s enough for a parent.
My sister I like!
yeah I know
you’re not supposed to like your sister
but Desiree’s great.
She left school last year
went right out and got a job.
She’s Assistant Manager of a bookshop.
She says they’ll stock my first book
when it’s published.
She’s nineteen.
Tall, dark eyes, long black hair,
and
this faint trace of soft light hair on her top lip!
that’s what I like about her
she’s upfront
other girls might wax it
but not Des
I tell her it looks sexy
and I think it does (for my sister!)
so Des & me
get on fine
she even talks to me
about Ms Curling
and Annabel Browning.
Sex, sport, & nose hair
I’m a normal guy.
An average sixteen-year-old.
I think about sex, sport, & nose hair.
Sex mostly.
How to do it
how to get someone to do it with me
who I should ask for advice.
My friends are useless
they know nothing.
We sit, at lunchtime,
trying to make sense of that
impenetrable mystery called girls.
I’ve thought of asking Ms Curling
she’s the type who’d look me in the eye
and talk straight
but I could never hold her stare
I’d start dribbling, or blushing, or coughing
or worse
I’d get an erection!
they happen at the worst times.
In the bus
In Science class
I spent all Friday night thinking I must be
perverted to get excited during Science!
so, I can’t ask my teachers, or friends,
Dad?
it’s so long since he had sex
he’d have trouble remembering.
I’d be better asking him
about nose hair!
Desiree!
She’ll tell me . . .
Desiree on sex
“Des, I want to know about sex.”
“Like what?”
“Like how, why, when, & who with.”
“How is simple. Hands, lips
kissing, touching.
Why? Because it feels good
and costs nothing, except
for the condom.
Or on the weekend, somewhere nice,
like the hut near Megalong Creek.
Who with? Can’t help you, sorry.
Why not ask Annabel Browning on a date?
You keep talking about her . . .”
Trust Desiree to answer
everything about sex in about fifty words
and bring up Annabel Browning.
Another poem on sex, sport, & nose hair
Sex is late-night games on the computer
thinking “there must be better things to do”.
Sex is the morning newspaper crimes
with my Dad shaking his head
saying “what a world, what a world”.
Sex is with a condom
or so the school counsellor says.
Sex is the beach in summer
the smell of suntan oil
the long train ride home, alone,
reading a book.
Sex is acne, greasy hair, and shopping
for the Hollywood gloss of magazines
and movies.
Sport is as much energy as sex
yet half the fun, I imagine.
Sport is the only time
you’d get me wrapping my arms
around Peter Blake’s legs!
Sport is the way we decide who should
be the School Captain.
Sport is money, broken noses, & played
by guys with thick necks!
Nose hair is my destiny.
Nose hair will prevent me from having sex
until I’m too old to care.
Nose hair is the first thing I check in the morning.
Nose hair bristles in the afternoon wind.
Nose hair keeps my mind off girls, maths,
and the adventure of sleeping.
A writer
I’m going to be a writer
I decided yesterday
while Ms Curling, my Art teacher,
had my head cradled in her arms,
wiping my brow
with a warm towel.
We were surrounded by
twenty-one fellow students, all in football gear,
and two less-concerned teachers.
It seems my face and someone’s elbow
had a close encounter.
the result, Ms Curling’s Chanel #5
wafting through
my newly-broken nose.
Maybe it was this,
and her concerned caress,
or the thought
of another fifteen games
left in the season
that decided it . . .
yes
I’m going to be a writer
beat the typewriter
not my mates
no more change-room jokes on muscles
or competitions for the smelliest socks.
I’m retiring
joining the guys on the outer.
I’m going to wear dark clothes
and an intense expression.
If nothing else
I hope it will attract the girls.
The great poem
I have just written a great poem.
A Classic.
One that’s so good
University Professors will read it, badly,
in front of hundreds of students
twenty years
after I die
to prove to the world
what a jewel
what a gift
what a gem
I gave
what a poet I was.
Here in my Blue Mountains garret
I light another imaginary cigarette
to celebrate
death and the poem.
I’m sending it to every publisher in the land
I want them to fight for it
I’m sitting at my desk trying to choose the pen
I’ll use to sign the contracts
to sign the Movie Rights
I’m sorry it’s night, or I’d ring the Chat Shows
to arrange to read it live to the Nation!
Ms Curling, my Dad, Desiree
will shake their heads in disbelief.
A great poem from “what’s his name” . . .
Love is like a gobstopper
Love is like a gobstopper
it’s true
you spend all your childhood
wanting that perfect round life-giving
never-ending ball of sweetness
you look through the shop window
your mouth waters
legs shake
eyes go in and out of focus
until that desired gobstopper is yours.
You hold it
cherish it
kiss it
sleep with it under your pillow
wake up sticky
and hope you’ll never be alone
but like all lovers
you want more
so one tempting night
you close your eyes
push it all the way into your mouth
and taste its wonder
then you swallow it
choke
and die!
Love is like a gobstopper.
Desiree on facial hair
It’s Jack who’s to blame
his obsession with facial hair
has got me looking at my moustache
God! he’s even got me calling it that
when it’s only light lip hair
and now I can’t look at anyone
without noticing the shadow above their mouth.
Three weeks of research has proven
that every woman I know has facial hair.
The only people without it seem to be
models and movie stars
and we all know about their grip on reality!
so I’m keeping mine
despite my hairdresser
mentioning it every time I see her.
Waxing, electrolysis, dyeing —
give me a break.
And besides, I’m beginning to like it
maybe Jack is right
maybe it is sexy
let’s face it
it’s certainly more attractive than nose hair.
Violence in the Family
Today I’m going to watch my Dad
hit a white ball with a big silver stick
when he’s hit the ball
he’s going to walk after it
carrying a whole bag of big sticks
when he finds the ball, hiding, grass-stained
he’s going to hit it again
until it does what it’s told
and falls in the hole.
Sometimes it refuses
and he bashes the big stick
on the ground in threat
occasionally he drowns the ball in a lake
&nbs
p; and walks silently away
once he stamped his petulant feet
quickly looked around
alone, and ashamed
and gave the little ball an almighty smack.
After doing this for a few hours
he’ll put the ball and sticks in the car
drive home
and boast about his game to me and Des.
One day he asked Desiree to join him
but she smiled no
as she took a knife from the drawer
went to the fridge
dragged an onion out
and slowly, deliberately
cut its head off.
There’s a Ghost in Our House
Cancer
They said it was a harmless lump
it wasn’t
they said the signs were good
they weren’t
they said she needed tests
we all did
they said they found it too late
no, too early
they said she had six months
she didn’t
they said the pills eased the pain
they only gave them to Mum
they said Dad was being strong
he wasn’t
they said Desiree and I didn’t understand
we did
they said it was hereditary
now Dad calls the doctor if I get a headache
they said the hospital room smelt fresh
it smelt of death
they said the funeral was stirring
we came home alone.
Don’t believe
Don’t believe in leaders
don’t believe anyone who calls you mate
twice in one sentence
don’t believe in people who always do what’s right
don’t believe in people with religious placards
who stop you in the street and say
“this will only take five minutes of your time”
don’t believe in tax cuts
don’t believe anyone who parts their hair in the middle
don’t believe what you read, unless I wrote it
don’t believe stallholders at community markets
who say “yes, of course it’s handcrafted”
don’t believe school counsellors
who say they can help you
don’t believe in money, unless you’ve got some
don’t believe in pop stars with runny noses
don’t believe pop stars anyway
don’t believe teachers
they really want to dress like that
don’t believe anyone who votes Liberal
don’t believe anyone who votes National