Unstable Cliffs, the sign reads. Stay Clear.
And I think of the unstable Cliffs I have known:
The deputy that has a meltdown whenever I call in sick:
my cousin’s boyfriend who punches holes in the wall
when he is denied,
and the glue-sniffing Cliff I taught in Year 11 who fell asleep
on the tracks coming home from a party and was run over by a train.
They should have come with warnings too.
I was driving to the clinic about my disintegrating blood
thinking about the riots in Washington,
the four deaths,
when Barry McGuire came on the radio, singing his anthem, from the sixties
‘Eve of Destruction’. You know it?
And I thought:
it must mean something, a message maybe but could something
written that far back, sixty years,
speak to the present?
Barry thought so, his voice just as urgent,
just as polemic
as it was then.
Sure, the finger on the nuclear button seemed shrill,
a little hysterical — it’d be more measured now, wouldn’t it? —
but the hate in Red China and the riots in Selma, Alabama,
seemed less so.
He was really getting worked up.
I thought his passion would pulverize the speakers.
I was getting a little scared, feel my blood fretting.
Just as I pulled in the car park,
the song came to an end.
God knows what apocalyptic anthem
would confront me on the way home.
pic courtesy of Wiki Commons
between 1.45 and 3.00 pm on Sunday
when I ducked in to get a pint of milk
but I only have to get tested if symptoms appear.
Now every cough
sneeze
run of the nose
headache
is freighted with significance
Any chance of a coffee, Cheryl?
I’m busy, John. Can you get one from the machine? It does a good job.
Not as good as you, Cheryl.
She smiled but it was no go. So I went to the machine. There was a sign on it saying, Apologies. This Machine Is Out Of Order.
So I went and told Cheryl.
That’s funny, she said. It was working earlier. I’ll have a look.
A few minutes later, she brought me a coffee.
The machine’s working, John but I brought you a coffee anyway.
That’s funny: the sign said it wasn’t working.
The sign was on the side of the machine, she said. Only if it’s on the front does it hold true.
Oh? I said. Oh.
So I thanked her and after I drank the coffee, I left, a little troubled.
At home, I flipped through the community newspaper and found just the course I wanted: How To Read Signs. I filled out the form, sent in the cheque and enrolled immediately.
Never again would I be caught short before a sign.
John Malone 