Final

They're screaming his name

in this takeaway joint

on Fitzroy street

the tv cuts in and out

as we finger

fork fulls

of deep fried

dinner

the third screen

for the evening

we've traversed the city

drunk too much champagne

and ordered food from irish backpackers

as these guys have played on

and on

sweaty and lean

I lose the bet I made back in the bar

luckily that drunk guy hasn't followed us out here

to collect his winnings

and we all stand in the rain

sweaty

greasy fingered

debating whether to play on

the game

the rain

it's all coming to an end

match point to win or lose

you'll hear the screaching of my sneakers

as I dive to hit out

one final time.

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.

Today

Today,
my tongue is sandpaper,
thick

scratching
the dry
insides of my mouth

searching
for the right words
to offer my calloused fingertips

so that they may
play with them

mold them to the tune
that has come
so easily

the rain has washed away
coherence

it's down there in the drain,
it must be

otherwise where else
could it have gone?

I'd get down
on my hands and knees to look,
but I don't want to get my jeans dirty.

When the Rain Comes

And when the rain comes
Even it's tropic-like torrents cannot
wash away
The excesses of the night before

Even when smudged mascara and
stale sweat
have disappeared down drains
And the body is fresh and clean


There is a smell that lingers on,
One that cannot be named
or even talked about

It clings, as the dirt does to our shoes
It hides beneath our fingernails
Behind our ears

While we try to forget,
It follows us
As does a shadow
Or a stray dog
Or a beggar.

And we may catch a glimpse of it
Haunting our reflection
Tucking itself in
Silently beside us
as we sleep,
And try to dream
Of our emancipation.