A Mimic In Our Midst

it seems ridiculous

today, of all days

that this delicate piece

of information

should be

tumbling towards me

down a phone line

both brittle and mercurial.

Remind you of anyone?

There's a mimic

in our midst.

Today, of all days.

I stare at the pinot gris

(Tasmanian)

then off to the side at the

curly haired child

climbing over the knees of

the tradesmen

who are huddled over pints

and parmas

wearing matching camel coloured boots

like they're in some sort

of club.

In the beer garden

I'm protected

by succulents

and the numbing haze of

alcohol

but still it jabs

a little higher than

this mornings attack

a litte harder.

It's a sore point

and the jabbing only makes it worse.

There's a mimic

in our midst

an echo

and with the reverberation

down generations

I can't tell if it's question

that needs an answer,

or a cry

for help.