Rose is an 81 year old poet, mother of 6, grandmother of 14 and great-grandmother of Frankie Rose. Rose finds inspiration reading, walking, and at the beach, and loves coffee and time with family and friends.
HALF YOUR LUCK
I’ve always been a loser, never had no luck
From the time I was a baby and couldn’t learn to suck.
Me mother had to feed me through little toothless gums
Mushy sloppy stuff and nasty gritty crumbs.
And when I started school, I was put into a class
With a bloody crabby teacher who used to whack me arse.
I always got me sums wrong, kept in every night.
So when I turned fifteen, I packed the schoolin in
And went lookin for a job but even then, I couldn’t win.
I read the ads and rang up but was always just too late
Because the bus broke down or I misinterpreted the date.
So I ended up a garbo. Mind you, I’m not ashamed.
Someone’s gotta do the job but I’m always bein blamed
When the rubbish bins tip over . It isn’t bloody fair.
You’d think when luck was handed out, I’d get me bloody share.
I don’t walk under no ladders, I’m careful as can be
But if mishaps are gunna happen, they’ll all fall on to me.
I tried me hand at cricket, thought that might change me luck
But the first time I went in to bat, I went out for a duck.
I bought raffle tickets, Lotto, me numbers never spin up.
I’ve bet on horses, played the pokies, never got a win up.
And then I fell in love and married Betty Bragg.
I thought I was one lucky guy till she began to nag.
Soon’s she had the ring on, she tried to change me ways
I had to give up fags and drink. She took charge of me pay.
I had to shave each morning, put on clean underwear
And sex? Mate, I’ve forgotten cos it was bloody rare.
Well. I comes home this evenin, on time so she don’t get sore
And the house is bloody silent and there’s a note stuck on the door.
I have to read it twice, I can’t believe me eyes.
She’s left me, Betty has, for some sensitive new age guy.
And when I told me mate, he turned green as our garbo truck.
‘ You bloody lucky bastard mate. Wish I had half your luck !!’
After Good Friday
We stand on our crosses
Before supermarket shelves.
Legs tightly crossed
She awaits delivery
Of toilet rolls.
My best friend and I
Meet for take away coffee
Too far apart.
Masked and sanitised
Neighbours pass neighbours
Recognising no one.