Wriggly Gig

There’s a photo of me
at age all of four
driving the wriggly gig
at Hamewith in Herbert -
my grandparents’ farm -
in a paddock kept barley-free
for the sheep.

Unusual maybe
for a little girl then
to be at the controls
of a diesel-powered gig
but you’ll see me pictured -
determined as ever -
grandad, brother and cousin
behind me on deck.

And one other small boy
stands behind too
but with hands clamped over his eyes
unused perhaps to a family
where gender didn’t dictate
chance or right.

She can do it, let her do it -
a mantra ingrained
that set the scene of my life.