Huberta Van Akkeren Poems

Each year in August the teams descend, cricket foe morphing quickly to friend,
Bonds are forged on a pitch unique, camped on the banks of Reedybrook creek.
The grass is cut, the fields set out, the umpires shout, ‘Fair play gents, otherwise, you're out! '
Of drinks consumed, we will not speak, while camped on the banks of Reedybrook creek.
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What heartfelt questions must remain?
Left alone, sent away, then loved again
An angry young teenager alone with a drunken dad
A drunken mum, in a dysfunctional family… so sad
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We pray good times will come again,
As we sit and beg for rain,
We pray good times will soon draw nigh
As we dry the tears we cry,
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A husband, a father, an uncle, a son
A soldier, a brother, a man and a boy
Never one or the other, united, just one
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High and higher yet, I soar,
Immersed in cadaverine stench
Rising from floodplains, now
a composition of decomposition.
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