on this new estate built
on marginal land
called something like
mango hill
there is a swell that tilts
the curving streetscape
each frontage
a footprint
few trees
few trees
i don’t know what mango hill
was called
before it was called mango hill
or what devilment
it holds close
can’t overlook
but it looses
unrepentant dogs
from outdoor entertaining areas
to monster us
the first time
a big-chested brute with jaws
made a thrust at a tender child
the woman who held the slipped collar
turning it between her hands
hardly murmured sorry
the second time a woman screamed
— the collar has broken!
an arrogant upstanding dog
went hell for leather
a narrow squeak
home safe
the front door locked shut
and outside the dogs
Jennifer Compton lives in Carrum out on the Frankston line. She is a poet and playwright who also writes prose. When it comes to the poetry side of things she likes to have it every which way possible. She very much likes winning the Newcastle Poetry Prize and being given the big cheque. And she also very much likes the hurly burly of the open mic. She has been known to slam, but very, very gently.
