Friday, Me Again

So she calls me up at 9:35
and I'm already ready for bed

(I know, at this hour
on a friday
but still
I'm jetlagged
exhausted
and halfway through a potent hot toddy
with star anise floating peacefully alongside
slices of lemon)

and she's one of those friends
those friends that you'll leave the house with no warning for
at 9:38 when you hang up the phone
no make up
swap slippers for
slip ons
and cycle so you get there quicker. 

Everyone's out tonight.
Even the moon
full and hanging low
eavesdropping.

I'm waylaid
once
twice
on my way home
familiar faces .

Everyone's out tonight
a drunk falls on my bike
and I hit the third pub for the night
reunited with the barman
it's been too long
and i get a whiff of something,
parma? fries?
I think it's home, cutting through the cold reunion
and I relax into being
just me again.

Spinning Tops and Gypsy Hats

The fox is living in the garden
my mother's sure of it
she's seen him
slipping into the cavity
between the pampass grass
and the old stone wall
that separates this place
from the vicarage next door.

I can see it all
from my window
and an aerial view
of roses
pond scum
and grass clippings.

Soon
I'm gonna take of these Wellington boots
and forget about
blue jays
and robin red breasts
and borrowed socks
and blackberry bushes
soon

I've opened every door under this roof
scoured cupboards
scaled staircases
emptied suitcases

and filled them back up with wonder
such wonder
i wonder if I fell asleep
six weeks ago
and haven't woken up yet.

Melbourne's winter
lies in wait
to pinch me
take my gypsy hat
and hang it up
sucking me back into the sheets
I chose myself
forcing upon me things unfinished
familiar
scratched and dented
dates
and responsibilities.

Close my eyes,
delay
reality
wait for the spinning top to topple
inhale cold air
and hold my breath
waiting
waiting
to wear that hat
those socks
and start the spinning top
in motion
again.

Things That Will Soar

I should have been in Prague today
and yesterday
and the day before
but I'm not

instead
i'm hemmed in by bay windows
and constant rain
and the tick tick ticking of
clocks that are slow
or fast
or silently stopped all together.

Time's as confused as I am;
part wanting to gallop a pace
part wanting hang back and wait
with the characteristically contradictory desire
to stop, be still and
observe independently
as the world turns around me.

I've missed my flight
and gained precious days
here where it's buzzing
where we bounce off each other
like rubber
springing apart
gravity bringing us together
only to be propelled again
to opposite sides of the globe
when we'll connect again?
Neither knows,

but as sure as we are rushing through the air
we can thank the other
for propelling us up there
amongst planets and meteorites

(like those that lovers
have begged us to like.

I'm not impressed
it's a lump of rock, unearthly, sure
but inert, grounded
clumsily mounted)

I should have been in Prague
today, yesterday and the day before,

but rather than hold onto something that has fallen,
i want to touch the things
that will soar.

Rum In Brightly Coloured Tumblers

Wrapped in a blanket
On a rooftop in Shoreditch
We're Drinking rum and coca cola
From brightly coloured tumblers as the sun comes up
Hidden by thick grey clouds
That illuminate
the grey slate tiles
That glow and glisten
And threaten to tip us off
Onto the pavement three floors below.

The neighbours skip
Over chimneys to join us
Dickensian

In gold studded leggings
Sav blanc in one hand
Lit Marlboro light in the other

We dance
And sing too loud
And fall about
Delirious
Drowning out tiredness
With rum and coca cola
Sipped from brightly coloured tumblers
That punctuate the grey, grey
Slate tiles
Grey Concrete and thick grey clouds.

Splintered toes
And blisters
Broken glass
Snug in a stripy blanket
Spilled drinks, kebab and chips
And rum in brightly coloured tumblers we relieve the sun of his duties
And light up london ourselves

As the day dawns.

What The Planets Have Planned

There are strawberry plants
Growing like weeds
 In the cracks of the pavement
And the rhododendrons at the bottom of the garden
Are in full bloom
 Partly obscuring the shirtless eastern european men
Who are building a wall In red bricks.

 A house full of people
Who all seem to have the same nose
The same eyes
We watch the rain
No one has told London
It's summer.

 They're camped out
 By the Thames,
The enthusiasts
Raincoated
With supplies of bacon
And Bovril
How very Brittish.
 On the tube
Just after Camden Town
 A man tells me that Jesus loves me

 (he then tells the whole carriage So I feel a bit less special)

 And I can't controll my laughter
It's the best medicine
Why would I want to I've never given a fuck about
Disapproving looks
And this is what's keeping me alive
In the face of my lack of faith
So they can all get fucked.
 I've got pins and needles
Been still to long
 Gotta keep moving
 Keep warm
Keep going

Venus is passing
No desire to hide
And I'm following her lead
 This is once in a lifetime
 And no cloud cover
Fog
 Or disapproving looks
 Is gonna get between me

 And what the planets have planned.