lost and found
I am missing
my striped socks
and spotted umbrella
a week away from
an overseas holiday
these minor losses
take up a lot of space
Last night
in a pub
I wondered if I saw
two people
falling in love
either that or they were
looking for the same thing
tucked into
the gap between their seats
I left before they did
so will never know
what they found
if anything
heads pressed together
eyes down
seeking those things
we lose in the cracks
umbrellas and socks
and love
and other things
like that
picture perfect day
I run in side streets
five minute increments to increase my fitness
brown chickens battle cats for scraps
the sun hangs low and fat at the end of this lane
overturned shopping trolley
lolls its belly empty
one wheel turns a slow rotation
in this backyard lives a yellow crane
suppose they have to go somewhere
at the end of each day
boy with black hair texture of ink
carries his skateboard
along the dry creek bed
a small neat woman sweeps
the patch of dirt outside her house
into a dustpan and takes it inside
grunting man digs up his front yard
rolls of fake grass stacked along the driveway
ready to be laid
my heart hurts but my feet are steady
on Sunshine Road I am startled
by a barking sound hurled from a passing ute
it is not a dog
it is a man making a noise like a dog
maybe he thinks he is being funny
the shout stabs a hole through my fitness goal
reduced to a walk I seek out alleyways
running seems too loud now
for this picture perfect day
instead I kick cans pick up a stick and tap my way
along wooden fence palings
looking for a different way home
School train afternoon
on the train loud round girls
shout insults at each other
braces on their teeth clanging
it is a blue swaying afternoon
pale winter sun
when they are done with themselves
they turn attention to commuters
look at how she is sitting!
acid wash nice look!
their sharp eyes miss nothing
I come under fire as they note
that behind my sunglasses I am looking at them
what are you staring at?
surprised at how much it stings
when they get home will they kiss
mothers hello
go to their room
put on weekend clothes
eat pizza or burgers for tea
building up layers of protection
diminishing what gets in
Where we live
This poem was short-listed in the Williamstown Literary Festival Seagull Poetry Prize:
A woman
hidden under bulging flesh and sallow skin
sprawls in the Westpac ATM alcove
barks out her mantra: 'Got any money?'
When I lived in India I had a policy
of giving money to three people each day
This is Footscray
Her horizontal pragmatism does not invite conversation
and I don't think she is interested
in attending any community storytelling workshops
In the shared back paddock behind our house
there is a tree planting invitation
everyone welcome
I wonder
The morning of the tree planting
jackhammers blast me from sleep at 6am
busting up bluestone to widen the streets
Not sure why this makes me sad
it's not as if I laid it
It just seems like a violent
kind of beautification
Melbourne downpour
Melbourne downpour
means it takes everyone
hours to get home
I am safe and dry in my car
end of irritating work day
Restless and bored
Flicking through radio stations
I select the most popular
commercial drive team
There must be
a reason why
millions tune in every day
Within twenty minutes
I hear the drive team duo
a recap from breakfast
and a promo for the next show
Their voices are
hoppy beer on a hot day
creamy chocolate
a bubble bath for my ears
their words are big
fat bright shiny
glowing lies
about themselves
about the world
about the intimate
and down to earth relationship
they have with me, the listener
about how similar they are to me
and how far removed they are
from that mendacious
world of celebrity
Their lies
are so crunchy and
delectable
that I want to eat them all up
told with such brazen joy
that I long for them
to be true
Each lie is worth
more than my day’s entire work
ballooning their already
brimming bank accounts
inflating their already
elephantine egos
I drive on
the rain
steaming up
my car
I want to believe them
as much as I wanted to believe
that boy murmuring
sweet lies
in the rain
steaming up
his car
so many years ago
We want to believe the lies
but once you arrive
and open the car door
and step outside
you are alone
with only your voice
resounding
Thursday Morning
Driving down Barkly Street
I wait at a red traffic light
and see
two men sitting on a bench
One – dark haired
and swarthy wears a blue shirt
leans forward
arms resting on knees
The other – blonde
with sweeps of grey
yellow shirt
smokes a cigarette
They do not speak
Two men of middling years
with lives that carried them
to this Thursday morning
muggy grey summer day aching for rain
With lives that will
propel them on again
once this brief pause
in their day is done
In my story
they are little more
than featured extras
a snapshot I will carry
- until the memory fades
But for this moment
- car in neutral foot on brake, waiting to keep moving
they are the perfect shape
of contentment
On Summer
There used to be orange cicadas
green ones of course
their sci-fi heads
and chirping legs
but orange ones
I don’t know if they make them any more
there were wild plums
spilled and stained
on the footpath
we picked them from the trees
from the moment they were
just beyond too green
and risked stomach ache
by eating 1-2-3
I think there were
even black ones
cicadas that is
not plums
where did we find them?
secreted in the garden
wandering along window sills
they seem such a wild
and exotic thing now
but then they were part
of every day life
in sprinkler soundtrack
itch of cooch grass
wall climbing
bitumen burning
tin roof scrambling
white hot clothes line drying
panting dog
shimmer
and by the end of summer
we had a collection
of brittle brown shells
artifacts
trophies
weapons with which to
scare each other
finding them perched
on shoulders
creeping through hair
waiting in cool bed sheets
upstairs was hot and stifling
we all slept on the floor
in the lounge room
when nights got too hot
there was no air conditioning
just a brick house
with a slate verandah
and steps leading down
to the front path
lined with roses
that were pruned every year
and bloomed
and there were orange cicadas
and black ones too
they were special
enough to score points
but not so rare as to be worth
reporting to anyone
other than ourselves
not so rare
and yet I’ve not seen
a single one since
leaving childhood
do they make them that way
any more?
They may not go gently
What if we take them
the celebrities
all to one place?
Because the problem is not
so much that they exist
- all right, I get it, people like them, it makes them feel safe or that things are in their right place
the problem is
that they pop up everywhere
their whitened teeth and maniacal grins
and ironic humour and
over developed senses of self
frightening those of us who are looking for something else
- some other anchor or balloon in life
They leak into waters where they are not supposed to be
infecting art and literature
seeping into home cooking
clawing their tentacles across
dog walking and tree planting and adventure hiking and asylum seeking
Leaving no place sacred any more for the ordinary
unremarkable unrecognisable quiet ticking
not much happening here thanks and we like it that way
of what used to pass for every day life
So here’s what I think
We take them
- lure them, trick them, drug them, beat them, promise them, herd them, flatter them, feed them – however we get them there I don’t care, there are smart people around who know what to do, how to motivate and move them, satisfy and soothe them, just get them into ONE place and cyclone fence it and guard dog it and electromagnify it and then shut the gigantic gate and lock it
And we will still watch them
that channel will run 24/7
- more if that smart person can work out how to pummel extra hours into each day
So they will be on – they will always be on – so they won’t feel sad or strange or bad and the people who need to see them don’t have to pine or whine or panic or go mad
But for the rest of us
- those who have had to stop turning on the TV and opening the paper and walking out the door and going to the market for fear of the constant bombardment of their insidious smiling presence (“Oh look at me! I once learned some words off by heart and they put me on the telly and now I have an opinion about everything from Al Jazirah to jelly!”)
For us
finally
there may be
some peace
Cause we know that channel’s there
and we can turn it on
those dark lonely nights when we miss their shiny lights
But the rest of the time
we can get back
to the ordinary chaos
of our blissfully uninteresting, monotonous, uncelebrated
lives
The Queen of Hearts will find you every time
I wrote this to read at Passionate Tongues on Monday 7th September as part of their Travel feature night for the 8th Overload Poetry Festival.
I have this idea
Victoria Harbour
Hong Kong 1999
I am at a low point
A charming Sikh
Red turban wobble
“Madam, why do you cry?”
There are too many reasons
He gives me a playing card
The Queen of Hearts
To magic my sorrow away
I have this idea
That if I toss that red queen
I can leave the me I don’t want
Right there in that bay
And get on the plane
And fly up and away
She is strong though, that lady
You wouldn’t believe
She battles and strokes
Through the South China Sea
While I am at home
Licking my wounds
Waiting for my new life
My new me to begin
She is fending off pirates
In Sulu and Celebes
Riding whale spouts
Past East Timor
Conquering the Arafura Sea
While I am at counseling
Affirming and visioning
Reinventing and constructing
She’s hit dry land
And is dragging her way
She legs it from Darwin
And hitches from Katherine
She is fierce
She is bloody
She just will not die
And while I am
White lighting
And healing my chakras
She is underneath trucks
Like a horror film star
She is clawing and crawling
From Alice to Coober Pedy
She will not stop fighting
She will not give in
And on a late Sunday morning
Between coffee and markets
She appears at my doorway
Ravaged
Triumphant
Ferocious with glee
“Nice try,”
She says
- and laughs quite maniacally
“But I’ll always find you,
No matter how far you run
Or how deep you hide
I’m stronger, I’m faster, I’m angrier, I’m greedier
And I know what you can’t
You’re not you without me
We’re together for all time.”