Ode to Joy

For Mrs Rigg

The best things come in small packages, Kate. Like poison.
You had a way with words, alright. You had a way with people, too.
Like sleeping under star-light. Wear your woolly hats, girls, it gets cold at night.

Camp-fire cooking, lard-slick. A bucket with a loo-seat on it.
Lead on, MacDuff.
You could not swim, but that never stopped you
from coaching teams and timing galas.
Can’t wasn’t a word you knew.

Sunlight falls on purple carbon words. Your desk at chest height as I read. SELF CONTROL, class! Green stitch on pink, to make us think.

Jack of All Trades, Master of None, Kate, that’s me.
Respectfully, Joy, I disagree.