When I met you in the hall

By | 1 August 2010

When I met you in the hall you were all
inclement weather on a stony coast
and you held my hand as though we were more
than we could be: preppy kids in a pop-song duet
retrofitting dignifying deniable half-truths
at the end of the late-night double-feature
picture show.
                        We met again before your disability
support pension days, when I was a bright-eyed
ingenue at the agency after-party, coked-up,
with the hands of the randy partner (a known
pederast and pants man — and oh does he come
to a sticky end) all over me. He had character
not presence — it wasn’t a failing.
                                                      How I loved you
then but find now the unexamined life continuous
digital glitch presenting as analog texture.
In Fremantle we tour the wreck
of the Batavia — preserved immersed timbers tell us
humans are heavier than water, lighter than air —
blank reflections pale as faded decals slipped
from an astrolabe’s display case.

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