Creature

Creature.

That stain

on the sidewalk

something Neanderthal

like a creature

on a cave painting

Something Stupid

I wasn’t standing near a level crossing
being eaten alive by tiger mosquitoes waiting
for the train to pass when
I could be at the River Bar drinking with my buddies
under a cool fan
but I was stuck in the emergency ward of the RAH
waiting for the medicos
to attend to my heart attack or whatever I was having
and I had a killer thirst.
So just like George did something stupid —
stepping over the carriage links when the train lurched forward
so I discharged myself
so I could be at the pub by 5pm with my mates,
 I had to sign a waiver though.
 Nothing happened to me like losing a leg
but it could have, It could have.

One Monster at a Time

 

The honeysuckle bush out the back can wait.

I mean, how much more fecund

can one plant get

in 24 hours?

But my sister can’t.

She’s in ICU.

But I need to pick up her walker first

in the maze of streets her house is tucked into.

I just hope the German Shepherds are under control this time.

I’m ravenous but that will have to wait.

the toilet call can’t.

And when I get to the hospital I’ve got to find a park

somewhere in the surrounding street and not get lost again.

My equanimity scrambled like eggs.

So many things to accommodate.

That stobie pole like a Good Friday cross.

Then there’s the vertical coffin-shaped box I have to squeeze into

to get to ICU.

One monster at a time.

Furrow in the Head

I drove past the Snack Bar the other day where twenty years before I came across the boy with the furrow in his head.

He was in his early teens, with a patch over one eye and did not speak. His mate, a little older. spoke for him. They left with a few cans of coke and cigarettes.You could do that in those days.

What happened to him? I asked the shopkeeper after the two had left.

Well, he said, they were out in the shed horsing around with a speargun when it discharged. The spear shot across the room and took off part of the boy’s head.

We both went quiet for a while as the horror sank in.

I purchased my newspaper and left.

Everytime I drive past that shop …..

Risks Not Taken

Was watching 24 Hours in A & E

where this skater

tore down a flight of steps on his board

then crashing at the end

ending his chances of becoming

a pro

& I thought

we don’t take chances like that in our writing

not really

we don’t face broken bones, torn ligaments

or worse

we don’t face much

what’s the worst?

no one ‘likes’ our post, no one comments,

we put up a post that upsets a few people

it doesn’t get much worse than that

we don’t really risk much

but what if we did?

what would it look like?

what’s the riskiest post you’ve put up?

*pic courtesy of pinterest

Travelling in Ambulances

I like to travel in ambulances.

They seem such warm, friendly places

especially the Aussie ones shown on our screens:

‘Paramedics’ and ‘In the Ambulance’.

The ambos are calm, confident and chatty,

the ride authoritative but reassuring;

you feel you’ve landed on your feet

even if you are on your back;

There’s never any drama with these ambulances:

You scoot along niftily, the traffic parting

like the Red Sea for Moses; you’re delivered

efficiently as a package from Australia Post.

* I've never travelled in an ambulance; have you?
* have you an ambulance story ?

*pic courtesy of Wikipedia

the Red Telephone Booth

I was watching the Xmas Special of ‘Call The Midwife’ when the plot ran into a red telephone booth on a remote Scottish island. It reminded me of the red telephone booth I ran into some years ago:

The Red Telephone Booth

No one writes poems about telephone booths anymore

So I thought I would write one,

about the time I drove down

A series of side roads to avoid a booze bus,

when I almost ran into one.

It was so nostalgic.

It was the sort of booth that Clark Kent would dash into

to change into superman.

I opened the door and went inside.

It stank of stale urine and cigarette smoke.

The paintwork was peeling. There were no phone books

Only numbers,

‘if you’re after a good time call …’, that sort of thing

 and anti-gay graffiti.

It looked like

the last telephone booth on the planet before mobile phones

took over.

I closed the door, climbed into my car and drove off,

Heavy as a telephone booth, 

into the arms of the booze bus.

The Other Side

My mate phones me from the other side.

How’s it hanging? He asks.

Oh, you know. A little left of centre.

All our conversations begin this way.

How are things with you? I ask.

A bit up in the air, he chuckles.

We take a while to get around to things.

You still with that woman?

Nuh, I say. We had another stoush. You found anyone up there?

I’m in no hurry, he says. You know that old saying: Once bitten …. Besides, I’ve only been here six months.

Don’t go climbing any wonky ladders, I say.

Don’t worry, he says. There’s no light bulbs here.

So what’s the weather like? I ask. Up there?

Heavenly, he says. Heavenly.

 

The Stain

The wine had been sitting in the glass

for three hot days

when I poured it

down

the

sink

& saw the stain

it left

on the side:

a sigil

a rune-like mark

Of some sort,

representing

Angel or demon,

Benediction

Or curse?

The drinker’s version of ‘the writing

on the wall’?

A message from another world?

I look at it long

Unsettled.

Perplexed.

 

what does it look like to you?

Unstable Cliffs

Unstable Cliffs, the sign read. Extreme Danger. Stay Clear.

And I thought of the unstable Cliffs I had known:

The deputy that barked at me when I called in sick,

My cousin’s boyfriend who punched holes in the wall

Whenever he was denied,

And the glue-sniffing Cliff I taught in Year 11 who fell asleep

On the tracks and was run over by a train.

They should have come with warnings too.