My school arranged a day to visit
Old Sydney Town where convicts
wore those arrows like pyjamas.
Now it’s covered like the convicts by a road.
I paid for a piece of treasure there
and weighed its magic on my palm.
My mother taught us how to call
the fairies with a matchbox
and a patch of moss and toadstools
the rain helped off the rocks
so in the morning we had lollies
and our toys hung from the roof.
My eleventh birthday present
was a bow with arrows and a target
that he painted with his oils
on a canvas in advance
and he drove a taxi to the moon and back in miles.
He showed me how to hold the bow
and he argued with my mother
and he left us for a while.
Then I missed my little treasure
how it’s cold metal warmed
when I held it in my hand
so I prayed to God I’d find it
and I shook it from the roots
of the tufts of yellow grass.