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In the flat
Returning downtown,
via
railway tunnels -
"Lard -
the power of lard,"
the graffiti -
to something like
humidity's summer haze,
(really smog),
checking oz lotto
one day early -
always thinking
it's Wednesday on Tuesday
& everything is
out of service,
the nearest
facility's
in the next suburb - so,
like
a quiet retiree
I raid some envelopes
of cash
stashed in the books
in the hallway.
Here, in the flat,
a syntheses of chores
takes place
in the one room -
laundry-in-the-kitchen
processes -
radio on,
Minh's mother's gift -
a small wooden vase
& its glowing
inlaid scene, a lake,
on the window sill -
ah . . . . .
this blur
in corporatism's chaos
and everyone there, in Hanoi,
Minh's mother,
& particularly
Hanoi mothers,
would want
some small luxury
¶
A faded aquamarine apron
stalks the kitchen
in the parallel flat
as I stalk mine,
I'm waiting for Paul
for sunset drinks -
on the horizon
Sydney Tower
becomes a backlit stick,
the bats
are already
beginning to cross
overhead & sideways
from Cooper Park
when
Jane beats Paul
to it - arriving early,
then he's here,
we play Richard Tauber
singing
"Don't Be Cross"
for Jane . . .
a 50 cent LP record
from a Mountains'
garage sale -
a gem - lined up
next to a box set
of Kamahl
and some egg cups.
¶
Sunset drinks -
a few plans
for travel or health
or entertainment -
details mostly left
wide open -
later,
an evening stroll
past the shops -
the hairdresser's
empty cash-register drawer
placed, in full view,
in the centre
of the salon floor
to deter robbery.
In the middle of the night
a gusty change
blows
the smallest paintings
off the wall,
the building shudders -
the last bus
hurtles past
From a Daihatsu
for Ken Bolton
drat !
forced to change tack
at the intersection -
every landmark's
been demolished.
drizzling melbourne-style
and the big man's
just collected
a medal -
service to literature
(that's
poetry or writing)
(can it really
be served ?)
(I know you'll have
an answer).
switch from
digital dashboard
radio to cassette -
globular bass notes
as Irma sings
"I'm tired of working,
paying all the bills.
you are the dog,
but I've got to do
the barking
all by myself"
yes,
I'm tired of working
and
as I've walked
from library to library
I've become
that fuzzy figure
in the background
of at least a hundred
graduation snapshots.
now I'm zooming
up the M4,
the sax is phenomenal
on
"Wish Someone Would Care".
a glimpse
of early morning sun
on the flat horizon -
a translucent patch
of butcher's-window-
fluoro-pinkness.
what's for breakfast
on this freeway -
a line of smooth
from Charlie Parker ?
nup -
James Brown, Joe Turner ?
but it's your birthday
all day -
&, Ken, I reckon
it's hairdos,
mainly,
that distinguish
temporality.
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