A Taste of Chlorine

A Taste of Chlorine.

Did you hear the possums last night? Up in the roof?

Sorry, I say, I didn’t.

It sounded like a stampede, she says. Like a wild party.

Why weren’t we invited? I chuckle. Nah, I was asleep.

I forgot, she says. You sleep deep.

I had a dream, I say.

Now you’re sounding like Martin Luther King. What was yours?

I was swimming laps in the pool. I was the only one there. I came out exhausted but exhilarated. That’s when I came in to see you.

You better have a shower then.

Why’s that?

You smell of chlorine.

Awkward Not Balanced

Awkward Not Balanced.

Can I tell you my dream, she says,

when talk turns to flowers.

What I really like

is a bouquet,

with one long sprig off to the side.

Awkward not balanced.

I like my poems like that too:

eye-catching,

with fascist suns,

ladies with tachycardic eyes,

a girl with incarnadine hair,

poems with flourish,

quirk

like Tintin’s quiff.

• pic courtesy of pinterest

The Memory Paradox

The Memory Paradox.

Not all words get through.

2.5 million gigabytes of memory

count for nought if words are stopped at the gate

The meaning of ‘lambent, for instance,

or the tricky title

of that Tony Joe White song,

the best cover Elvis ever did.

Not even the name of the new friend we made

at Church last Sunday,

starting with J: Jordan? Josh? Jaidin?

My daughter doesn’t remember either.

Maybe it’s a family thing.

Why do some words get blocked, while millions of others

get through?

The mind has a mind of its own.

*pic courtesy of pinterest

Things I’ve Heard about It

The Things I’ve Heard about It.

It is a cancer.

It is not a cancer.

You will not die from it.

You will die with it.

It is the cancer you want to have

if you have to have a cancer.

It is indolent. Lazy.

And that strange name.

Long as the name of a Welsh railway station.

Waldenstrom macroglobulinaneamia.

Try saying that in one breath.

Whew.

• pic courtesy of Wikipedia

Gone

Gone

Admittedly it ranks a little lower

than the mystery of the Marie Celeste.

missing Malaysia Flight  A 370

or the disappearance of the Beaumont children

at our local beach on Australia Day

half a century ago

But I still want to know

what happened

to my snazzy blue, gold trimmed vest

I got for Xmas and took off for a shave

on Boxing Day

I only took it off for a minute

so I wouldn’t get it grubby.

Where did it go?

Siberia

Siberia

We arrived late at night. That may have been the reason.

Or maybe our reputation preceded us.

Either way we ended up in Siberia, Room 313 , the furthest most room from the front desk, next to the storage area.

Adele, the desk clerk, wasn’t much help. In her effort to be genial, she often hit the wrong note.

Eventually, we got our keys and lugged our baggage down the long, long corridor, the shadows across the carpet hulking and ominous.

By the time we got to our room we were stuffed,

We stripped off and hopped beneath the covers of the king size bed.

That’s when I realized we had company.

The figure beside me shifted uneasily  

Stunned and Panicky

Stunned and Panicky

I wake up suddenly

stunned and panicky

like a ‘roo caught in the headlights

of a big rig

an eighteen wheeler

tunneling thru the darkness.

My senses are all rinsed.

I leap out of bed

into the hysterical light of morning

pour myself a coffee

settle back into my little

skew whiff home.

• pic courtesy of pinterest

What She Saw

You look like  a newt

in yr birthday suit

she said with clear élan.

A little blemished.

Somewhat unfinished.

A strange fit of a man.

I’ve read yr text.

I know what’s next

& up the stairs she ran

Two Moons

.

Look, she says. There are two moons tonight. Do you think that means anything?

Like end times, you mean?

I don’t know, she says. It can’t be good.

We move closer. There they are above the rooftops, one higher and to the right of the other.

Someone in the ranch-style house across the road switches the porch light on and joins us.

My ex phoned, he says. She saw it too. She’s bit of a sky watcher.

So we stand there out the front as one disc, then the other veer off in a north-easterly direction, silent as full moons.

As Soon As

As soon as you stand outside someone’s place,

whip out your mobile camera and start taking snaps

of something in the street,

jacaranda flowers, for instance, carpeting the verge,

an ibis making love to a TV aerial,

a drunken, tilting fence,

someone starts singing loudly in a bathroom.

conversations break out in the hallway like a rash.

windows open or close,

to let you know they’re onto you

when all you’re doing is trying to compose a poem.

When did people start growing so suspicious of poets?