Grown-ups
drinking with friends – a barbecue
in may. it’s the first summer weekend
since we got the back garden to host in. meat
moist as soap on a plate by the grill.
I laid it out. we bought too many sausages
stickered in lidl and cheap. and too many
cheap beers – people always bring their own
out of courtesy anyway. kids run around
between tables and plant-pots, providing
a topic of conversation, like dogs
at a dog-park: just a subject to start.
bella’s doing well without speaking
much english. saoirse (an only child) is clearly the boss
and aaron has apologised ahead of the tantrum
when his son learns we don’t have an ipad.
we’ve pulled out every chair and have been very careful
that nobody pregnant sits in any
which might collapse down. chrysty is frying things
thoroughly black
to avoid accusations
of poison. I flit between groups
like a bluebottle circling. I top up
each glass – I’m a host, it’s
incredible. better than a balcony
in an apartment. better than even
ballet. it goes until 7 or 8pm,
naturally somehow,
and no-one even vomits
or gets in a serious fight.
DS Maolalai
DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as “a cosmopolitan poet” and another as “prolific, bordering on incontinent”. His work has been nominated thirteen times for BOTN, ten for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections; Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016), Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019) and Noble Rot (Turas Press, 2022).
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