an adelaide western suburbs sunday school memory

 

 

the birthday cake was

a round piece of jarrah

decorated with petrified

pale blue plastic icing

 

 

every year they’d light candles

you’d blow them out

and they’d put it back in the tall cupboard

until next week’s birthday Harvest

 

 

once i prayed it would

magically transubstantiate into real cake

and we could all have a slice.

but it remained wood

 

like a graven image.

superficial, no real meaning

like the wooden heart of

elvis

 

or jesus saying

i am the door

 

© rob walker

(from micromacro, Seaview Press, Sept, 2006)

ISBN 978-174-008-415-4