The tram
A man with praying hands,a rosary of heart beats,sees the sun rise,like a lion's eyes.There's confetti kisseson the floor of the tram.The falling stars of a child's tears.The people hang onlike coats on a hanger.Along Elizabeth Streetthe tram stops to eat.
Poem
'I was sitting across from the doctor,like a possum on a fence,Hesitant,He fed me apples,Medication in a blister pack,An apple a day.I grabbed it and ran away.'
'I'm sorry for my indecision,as I gave the guitar back to her,and went out and scoredDown by the river was all I heard.The thunder and lightningof a storm in the skyof an angry old manand I was sorry I was high.'
Dusk peppermint skies
The young ones next door play fiddle and guitarThe apple stars fall.And by the music of the darkCider voices call out.Spider man on the couchDreams of oil by the gallon,Gold by the ounce.This is the house that will turn to rustWith rusty neighboursWho smile like sugar.Night falls,A rich jar of pasta sauce.Then moon appears,A tossed coin.Spun into dust
Poem
A man carries a newborn,A lady carries flowers.Each carries responsibilities.The world is round,but I talked about thinking outside the square —of St Vincent's square,where God points his finger,where you step on the ants,and stare at the stars.
Dope stars
They'll help you out if they can,with a bud or a star,they'll even pawn their guitar.On the corner,like an unloved spider.If you've got a cigarette,they've got the lighter.They're in love with all the Gods.They get along with their bong.For them the smoke is the Holy Ghost.But the Father and Son are like two fish in a pond.They're not scared of cancer,because cancer is an old piano in the corner that never gets played.They've wasted their lives being wasted.They're shifty when they score a three for fifty.It helps them sleep,it helps them relax,just don't get on their backs.
Peta Edmonds is studying a diploma in professional writing and editing. She came first in her novel writing class with a novel she is working on called Tramspotting.