I grasped the steam-iron with left hand,
the right was straightening trouser band;
it felt different, unusual, its hiss and feel,
serpent’s thought made me reel
I imagined it come up from lake, it felt
much like a rattlesnake, its heat I conjured
venomed-fang, turning skin to soft marang:
and devil’s tail its tongue from steam, made
imagined threat so real did seem
So from this thought-experiment, ironing
washing as I went, I learnt to grasp the iron
quite firm, for holding loose could easily burn
So keep your kids and critters clear, of hissing
iron with venom’s sear; and after steam its
plug remove, remember poison will not move
Why would I wanna be lemon or lime?
When I could be lemon marang
It might feel good in my haven sublime
But there’s more left to do than just hang
The bumps and wrinkles of my skin
Reminds of some latter acne stage
But flavored juices from within
Show wisdomed hours on each turning page
Through leaves way up in the shady tree
The sun so often leaves me tanned
With hunger pains you came and picked me
Braving brush with wavering hand
Nothing beats the view from up top
So high, it shows your dedication
Barked with lines that time can’t stop
For me a win-win situation
Convert me into something sweet
Or you could turn on your crusade
To masquerade with sourpuss treats
And call yourself the lemon aide
No, leave me hanging high and dry
With shriveled smiles before I fall
I choose to remain here in the sky
Untouched till topsoil sprouts reform
Who’s ever heard of a sour brigade?
That laughs and likes to play the fool
All gay and taunting the days away
The greatest trick I’ll ever pull
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