The fig tree is trying to swallow our backyard.

I’m not worried though because it’s trying to swallow everything. It’s creeping over the back fence and the neighbours don’t seem to care, so it creeps pretty good. The figs are big, they droop from the leaves and sometimes I twist one off and my hands get itchy from the white gunk. The fruit inside looks like guts so I close my eyes before I take a bite. I only eat them out here. Mum’s always saying to her friends when they’re drinking on the back patio that the landlord should come and chop his ugly fucking wog tree down. But they’re not here now.

The sun is high and hard. It’s making my head hurt. There aren’t any shadows in the yard, nothing but the broken washing line and crabgrass, so I lean against the leafy back fence and my shoulders feel all loose. I pull out the elastic holding up my ponytail and my hair falls down and mixes with the leaves. My headache starts to go.