You have just missed the arrival
of a 12-year-old girl
as she rushed over the threshold
and slammed the front door,
the knocker klanking
like an iron chain link.

You have not seen her
in her too-thin dress,
filmy from the downpour
of stammering drops,
back on the short cut,
her umbrella wrenched inside out.
Who expects such a battering
in the hot breath of June?

You did not see her waist,
the hand-print bruise
like a small new country
on the continent of her once-child flesh.

That was the frame before,
as I said.

Source: Love in the Time of Predators, Poems from Honeymoon Bay, Leaf Press, 2013