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accurate accounts for years and have only bounced three cheques in my lifetime, and then I knew they were going to bounce.”
    “That might work for you but it won’t work for us.”
    “You mean it won’t work for you,” said China. “Look, how about a little compromise? If you promise to keep all your receipts neatly organized instead of strewn about on every surface, window ledge, and tucked into every pocket and orifice you own, I’ll keep the household accounts in the computer with my own system as backup. By the way, how are you going to keep track of the business accounts when you’re on the road?”
    “I’ll get a laptop,” said Sam.
    Right, thought China , he'll need a tank to carry around all his equipment. A laptop indeed. A lollipop would be more effective.
    “Sam, what if I don’t like Grimshaw Island?” asked China nervously.
    “You will. It’s a lot like Newfoundland.”
    “Yeah, but I left Newfoundland. I’m not saying I prefer big city life. I don’t. But maybe I should have taken a look at my future home.”
    “You’re not having second thoughts are you? It’s a bit late for that.”
    “No, Sam. I love you, but I just need to know that there’s a Plan B in case Plan A doesn’t work out.”
    “Well, if you really don’t like it, we could eventually move to Halifax and spend summer on the island. A lot of people do that.”
    “Really? That sounds like the best of everything.”

    China was reassured that as long as she loved Sam and had Plan B in reserve on the reserve, all would be well. She kissed Sam and left him in front of the screen communing with his higher accounting self while she wrote a honeymoon poem.

    June 12/96

    Honeymoon

    We fucked all night
    ate breakfast, fucked again
    ate lunch, were sore
    so we went canoeing,
    put the bed on the balcony,
    fucked again, but were soothed
    by the cool breeze
    fanning our arses,
    slept in the lovely fresh air
    and guess what? Fucked again!
    I'm tender and drinking tea,
    He's working and drinking beer,
    Now he's yelling at me
    over the fucking budget;
    I love being married.

    ~ ~

On A Mutual Sea

    When China finally arrived on Grimshaw Island, she was thrilled with the endless beauty of the sandy beaches, thick forests and the sea, everywhere. The house they had rented was situated on a slight rise on the second road up from the beach. China would have been able to see the sea from the windows on the second floor if the trees behind the house hadn’t been so tall. She and Sam vowed that when they were ready to build, only a house on the beach road would be acceptable. What was the point in living on an island, surrounded by water, if you didn’t have a view of the water? There were still a few tracts of land available on the long inlet that protected the village from the dangerous Atlantic beyond. The Grimshaws literally rode the tide out of the inlet. They waited for the ebb tide to carry them easily out to the fishing grounds.
    The white population, who used the name “Grimace Island” amongst themselves, lived semi-harmoniously with the Grimshaw Indians, but basically kept to themselves. Some were rugged individualists with misfit, or downright criminal backgrounds. Some were gentle hermits, leftover hippies, or artists, and some had recognized opportunities to start small service industries like gas stations, clothing stores, and restaurants. Of course right in the middle of the white part of town was the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant run by a hard-working family who smiled politely, served excellent food, kept strictly to themselves, and closed the restaurant for two months of every year to travel back to Hong Kong.
    Sam had told China that Grimshaw Island was a lot like Newfoundland. She soon discovered that Sam had been a bit sweeping with that statement. Newfoundland was full of rocks, very little sand, stunted trees clinging to sparse topsoil and huge boulders left behind by ancient glaciers. Grimshaw Island, further to