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In The Park by Gwen Harwood

She sits in the park. Her clothes are out of date. Two children whine and bicker, tug her skirt. A third draws aimless patterns in the dirt Someone she loved once passed by – too late to feign indifference to that casual nod. “How nice” et cetera. “Time holds great surprises.” From his neat head unquestionably rises a small balloon…”but for the grace of God…” They stand a while in flickering light, rehearsing the children’s names and birthdays. “It’s so sweet to hear their chatter, watch them grow and thrive, ” she says to his departing smile. Then, nursing the youngest child, sits staring at her feet. To the wind she says, “They have eaten me alive.” Suburban Sonnet by Gwen Harwood She practises a fugue, though it can matter to no one now if she plays well or not. Beside her on the floor two children chatter, then scream and fight. She hushes them. A pot boils over. As she rushes to the stove too late, a wave of nausea overpowers subject and counter-subject. Zest and love drain out with soapy water as she scours the crusted milk. Her veins ache. Once she played for Rubinstein, who yawned. The children caper round a sprung mousetrap where a mouse lies dead. When the soft corpse won't move they seem afraid. She comforts them; and wraps it in a paper featuring: Tasty dishes from stale bread.