I Wish

I'm cleaning the kitchen
in a clockwise direction

with Joni for company

I sing along
and as always, get the lyric wrong

my memory won't learn her sentiment,
substituting mine instead

none of my rivers freeze
and when I wish for them
I imagine sailing,
sailing
away
in the breeze,

leaving behind the holiday season
and all those people
still cutting down trees.

If Not Around Our Table, Always In Our Thoughts

I've chosen
Bing Crosby
and Vera Lynn
to fill the suburban silences
of this
sparsely attended Christmas

though snow and sleigh bells
seem
incongruous up against the backdrop
of dried up leaves
and galahs

there's something
about their excessive vibrato
their gentle style
that has led me to forsake
Kylie
and Mariah Carey's anthems,
Wham's ubiquitous
'Last Christmas'.

It's comforting to have
representation
of that generation
lost to us through death
and distance

now that the grey hair
beneath the novelty hats
belongs to their sons
and daughters

if we can remind ourselves of them
in whatever small
abstract
way we can

surely that is a Christmas gift
we can
and should
give ourselves
every year.

Skintight Memories

The power's back on,

we know,
because we can hear the neighbour's radio
going hoarse over
the back fence.

Lucky,
with three fridges
full of
Christmas fare
that wouldn't be much good
lukewarm
or worse still,
rancid.

Later on, I let myself burn
in the afternoon sun

seemingly careless

but perhaps I want something,
some memory
I can keep close,
skintight
the season's greetings
written across my shoulders in
spaghetti strap lines.

It will hurt me
to hoist my backpack
homewards.

Perhaps that's what I want.

Tidal

You hit the roundabout
at the top of the hill,
and if you can take your eyes
off the road for a second

(while still manouevouring it's curves)

you get your first glimpse of the sea
arriving on the horizion

and the descent towards the shore
couldn't be quick enough.

You tumble from your vehicle
propelled,
tide-like
towards the foaming
ocean

you discard clothes
anything that will come
between
your watery bodies

then
reunited at last
the embrace
though cool on the skin
warms every part of you

as you sink into
a salty cocktail
of intoxicating
blue-grey oblivion.

Home.

The TV in the corner
is older than I am

and the dusty cane chairs in the yard
aren't sat on by anyone
except the neighborhood cats
who fight over this
unoccupied territory.

a siren in the distance
sets off the dingoes
and the doctor moves through the trees
dancing with the hibiscus flowers
that hang lazily over the back fence.

It's hot
inside, and out
and the air is thick with lethargy,
there's nothing to do, anyway
except take in the sounds of my childhood
and breathe in the smells of
home.

If You're Looking Down On Something, You're Probably About To Fall Off Your High Horse

Disembarking from the plane
I look around
for the bus
to shuttle us
to the main terminal

but
of course,
we're already there,

this is it

the city presents itself
with no sparkling pretensions,
mosaics
or mirrored walls
to reflect
my face

beneath it's thick layer
of make up

burning under the sun.

Sometimes We've Left Before We Go Anywhere At All

Today
the rain brings an
unprecedented joy

and under the gray Melbourne sky

everything is illuminated

buildings basking
in preemptive nostalgia.

Please Take One

There's a family on my street who every year at Christmas time decorate their front gate with tinsel and candy canes and tape up a hand written note that says, 'Please Take One'.

And every year I'm touched by this guesture, but any inclination I might have to offer festive treats of my own is curtailed by the firm belief that sugar is bad for you so here's what I've put up on my front gate instead.



You may find this as sickeningly sweet as those red and white striped candy canes, but like that family down the road, I don't care what anyone else thinks, I'm just going to offer up my christmas gifts for passers by to take, should they choose to do so.