15 Wisdom Street
the woman next dooris not talking to her husbandshe rakes a garden argumentpunishes leaves, brawls with flowersfrustrated by the strength of weedskneels on a stone and swears
inside the househer husband smokesand reads the paper, turnseach urgent page amazedthat he is not news
he wonders who writestrue histories of pain, of hate
newsprint stainshis fingers like guilt
The sphinx at your door
at this pebbled frontiersteps a lame mansinging heads I wintails I win
free of the leaping herd'snostalgia for the precipice
lostin the dusty intervalbetween the bubble sunand bubble moon(those liars)
all that is outsidehim torrents in himbut he sings
I am a porous manheads I wintails I win
Little Oxford Street
old men sleepin the backof abandoned carswarm in muscatdreams under dirty
overcoats
plastic garbage bagstorn by dogs revealtin smiles, ash,rotted fruit, lettersnot worth keeping,
small bones
old men wake like Thomaswho had to touch to believe
Everyday masterpiece
enthronedon their cool verandah
the old ones
connoisseursof light and shade
resolveall problemsof proportion
each fragile gesturea brush-strokein a self-portrait
nearing completion
John Ellison Davies lives in Gosford, New South Wales. His poems and short stories have appeared in numerous magazines and newspapers including Southerly and The Australian. Selected poems have been broadcast on ABC Radio National's A First Hearing and Poetica.
Street number image from Shutterstock