Sister Nora kneeling

By | 3 February 2024

Sister Nora kneeling to place daisies at the foot of the fruit machine
Circling, the ice planets appear fixed in the viewfinder
Of the binoculars left out waiting on the window sill
for watching cockatoos and pelicans in the wetlands
even your petty soul is heritage listed.
The codswallopers ride up as far as the electric wire,
Talking at once about the routine desecrations
Canvas bag bulging with nail bombs and mustard gas
Stoking the incinerator in the yard at weekends with boxes
and apricot tree branches
Dirty green water is stagnant with dead cod bobbing,
You allowed your ambitions to be so casually disintegrated
by the Mekon aloft on his hovering saucer
and every carved out idea that sank in execution.

Squandered my chances, poured petrol on every bridge
Tree hermit in the cave at Griffith, collecting shavings of Lux soap
for the copper, a Tarax Polly Farmer footy game found at the op shop
You must recall the revolving carousel restaurant down near
the Albert Park basketball stadium, what happened to that?
The scribe in the laneway beneath Gog and Magog,
the Harlem Globetrotters when they came to play at Kooyong,
And even the bailiffs won’t come for these failing
monochrome memories
And the cars like lit cigars wind in procession up Willan’s Hill
Down the edge of Beauty Point road
where the laminex factory once was
dinosaur backed dark road past tanks and towers,
glimpses of Bolton Park’s glaring pearls of flyswatter lights
for night football, loudhailer wailing,
as a late rumbling goods train bangs out its long kettle drum.

Then unbelievable stillness and the thinnest splinters of rain.

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