Why chew crayons, Rebecca?

Is there not one pith-helmeted hunter

bold enough to safari into

that defoliated jungle?

Sugar and spice melts to caramel

as you lick the wooden spoon

ducking and weaving

to the beater’s rhythm.

Sleep-deprived and swooning

dreaming of ball gowns

and magnolia blossoms

in Tara’s orchard.

Oak tree swings and ponds

spinning tops and jack-in-box

gather fairy dust

on the far side of the glass.

The leaves rustle as you

climb the shining birch.

Defy the beat in your head

ride away from the see-saw

on a coloured horse.