having your cake, not eating



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



or jesus saying

i am the door


© rob walker

(from micromacro, Seaview Press, Sept, 2006)

ISBN 978-174-008-415-4

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