When the gecko
is in the gully trap
I do not turn on the tap
I do not wash down the slops
the tzatziki past its use-by date
the old milk not quite right
I leave the gecko
(a skink in a sink
so to speak)
alone
in its concrete bowl
its dry island
its Colisseum home
But a cockroach?
Well, it will survive
the storm
the cyclone
the flood
the tempest
from the tap
and the slops
and the rinsing
of cartons
It will scurry and scamper
and if fate
befalls it
down through the grate
into the gurgler
it will carry on
defiant in the dark dank pipes
The gecko, though,
seems less robust
even though
it may descend from
ancient reptiles
lizards
or snakes
alligators
or crocodiles
The ape standing
by the gully trap
(a drain near the back door
you could say)
pauses
looks
senses
a tiny startled creature
trying not to move
hoping to hide
sticking to the sides
in naked daylight
The ape
turns to the garden of stone,
the compacted soil
a long way down
below
near-impenetrable
layers of
pebbles,
and empties the slops
the tzatziki and the milk
onto the base of a palm tree
Some plants
will drink
anything.


Vin Maskell is from Australia and runs the fabulous site and music-lit concert series Stereo Stories.