faintly scribbled in sky-blue pencil

    on the front wall of my house

in Surry Hills in 1971—

“is this the hostel where the lazy & fun-loving

                                          start up the mountain”

I don’t think anyone entering the house

    had hear of F. O’Hara,

their T-Rex records under their arms,

                 sauntering

    out to the kitchen to lean against

the fur-lined door I’d made

    to honour Meret Oppenheim

& for a sensual lean

                                    as well