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ARTS AND CULTURE

Cicadas | Sneaking out at Night | Girls

  • 15 June 2006

November trees were choc-chip with these early decorations, evening throbbing with their clamour like a hammered thumb.

Green Grocers in their wetsuit fluros, Brown Bakers— dusty as carob— Black Princes, ugly, like oversized house-flies and equally common.

We thought them ripe for picking: each parting from its tree with the sticky reluctance of a fridge magnet, the flickering zurrrr of a handshake buzzer.

For some reason, they seemed worth owning so we placed them in ice cream containers where they burnt-out faster than flashlight batteries.

Sneaking out at Night

Easy to steal past the open door of sleeping parents and meet      each other on an a.m. street; the vague idea of galaxies above the cover of volty-orange and      blown continents of cloud; the kingdom of night divided amongst the three of us.

To look down from the top end of Garden Avenue on the web of      city lights; the highway like a sea turned down low. To hear whatever it was humming beneath the days.

Girls

It was about that time you began to notice

the light of certain windows

Desire’s small suburb redrawn

The phone book weighty with promises

This ache was pure and general

The flush, the glow, the force-field that surrounded you.