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ARTS AND CULTURE

When the city spoke back to me

  • 02 February 2021
  Selected poetry best of us

 

I'm lying in your bed, watching a late-night

rerun of some SBS movie, drowning in the

bouncing blue light of the TV. Breathing

and hearing you breathe next to me, sigh

deeply, swathed in some peaceful dream

my hands outstretched out of the covers, waiting

for the nail polish to dry, I fall asleep.

You wake up in the twilight hours to go

to work, when it's still dark outside and

the roads are quiet, but for the sleepy

six tonners hurtling along at a dignified pace.

 

You switch off the TV, bend down

to give me a kiss before you leave

wrap my arms around your neck

whisper 'David, don't go'

you hold me, say you'll see me later

pacified, I fall back asleep.

 

Back then I never doubted a word you said

I wish that never changed.

 

 

floods across the border

 

Flash flooding near Wangaratta

forces me to 3-point-turn my way outta

knee-high flood waters consuming the Hume Freeway

group of men in high vis surveying

the long line of cars gently advancing

one sees my numberplates, calls out 'going back to Tassie then?' 

I laugh

mossy water seeps into the Camry

soaks me to my ankles

   extra weight, she lurches each time I hit the break

on the old highway, I pull over on the side of the road

use a bowl for the cats to scoop out excess water.

 

Finally reach Kingsgrove, free the cats from their carrier

set down some bowls of kibble and water

take a long hot shower

wash the floodwaters off my tired, pruned feet

by the time my head hits the pillow I’m asleep

in the early hours of next morning I dream of David

me crying, him moving on top of me, lifting me out of bed, my legs

wrapped ‘round him, hushing me, smoothing my hair.

 

Wake up, message Johnny first thing

tell him I'm headed his way after a quick shower. Can't wait to seeya.

 

Just past Emu Plains, the drive gets real quiet

the highway slopes and swerves, the ghostly Blue Mountains in the distance

looming and full of secrets

my head fixed on thoughts of Johnny

sagacious, towering, brutal

the time he choked me

longer than I expected during sex, bruising my neck.

 

 

when the City spoke back to me

 

when I wait for the tram on Swanston Street

hear the drumming and chanting of Hare Krishna, Hare Rama

a group of dark people in canvas white singing

the women in long skirts

circling each other, a stranger twirls a skinny bystander

in a Hawaiian shirt and chinos.

 

when Sneha asks me to meet her at a pub near St Kilda

on the
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