One Perfectly Round Ear

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Locked between his headphones

the scraggly haired beachcomber

scours the beach with his detector

its one perfectly round ear

listening to talk-back from the sand

music to his ears :

dollar coins , gold ear rings

or bottle tops , tin cans —

relics of summers empire .

On and on he goes

in his hand a miniature spade

and a blue bucket of hope

 

  • pic by senila ilinykn from Unsplash

Yr Fizz

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I opened up a soft drink —

You know how it is —

One already opened

but it had lost its fizz.

 

It had lost its zest.

It had lost its tang.

It had lost its bite

& worse, had lost its bang!

 

So hang onto your hat.

Enjoy life’s gee whiz.

You gotta be where it’s at.

& Never lose your fizz.

Still Waters

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Still waters run deep, his mum said

What did she know?. He took the plunge anyway

Swept up in its flow.

Emerged twenty years later,

Three kids, a mortgage, wife in tow.

Was it worth it?

Hell, yeh. Wished he could have let her know.

 

* photo from pexels.com by Gabor Coyamo

 

What Happened Out There, Out in the Garden?

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Stephanie was out in the garden, chasing chooks out of the vegetable patch. She was some way from us, out on the back porch, so I was surprised that she responded to something I said.

“Yes. I remember when …” and then her voice seemed to get swallowed up.

”What’s that?” I said.

But she stood there helplessly waving her hands as if signalling to us to disregard what she had to say and to carry on our conversation. We did and when my friend left, Stephanie came over and sat beside me.

“What happened out there?” I asked. “Out in the garden?”

“What I was about to say got swallowed up,” she said.

“Like in a sinkhole?” I said. They had been in the news lately.

“Like in a sinkhole.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “Tell me when you remember.”

What It’s Like

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It’s like walking around with a ‘Vacant’ sign around your neck.

It’s like being scooped out by an excavator.

It’s like being a songbird without a voice.

It’s like walking along a jetty studded with couples clinging to each other like barnacles to pylons.

It’s like being on the esplanade ripping into a pulled pork burger like an animal ‘coz you’re on yr own so it isn’t all bad.

Old Schooner

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I was reading a poem by Weldon Kees —

Does anyone read Weldon Kees nowadays? —

About Boris, ‘the fatalist parrot’ who fell off

his perch.

I thought of old Schooner in his cage in the

Drive thru bottle shop at Magnums at McLaren Vale.

At least he had some life in him unlike Boris

Who ‘watched the traffic flow, unheeding’.

You’d say ‘hello’ to Schooner. He wouldn’t say anything

But once you got your purchase and went to go,

He’d say ‘See Ya’ real chipper like. You’d wave back

And give him the thumbs up and if he could Schooner

Would reciprocate. He had a fan when it was hot and

A lamp for when it was cold and a little mirror to see

what a handsome chap he was. He looked well fed.

At least he didn’t pace up and down like a lion in a cage.

Whenever I have a glass now at Magnums I raise it

To old Schooner.