the Fitzroy Flasher

art and ideas: photos and words: mainly and sometimes.

Sleep-ins foil good intentions

As the sun gives rise and

servitude to Christmas Day

I flick the kettle on and spy

The sacrificial honeyed ham

In an overloaded fridge

That strains to cool the

Offerings that hours later

Will fill a lace tablecloth

And the good plates

And the Tupperware

And landfill

And…

My spiral into chaos

Is caught by a ringtone

On the house phone

Giving rise and promise

With eager small talk

A trademark exchange of

Familiar voices rejoicing

And ‘passing you on’ –

The result of years of

Love not habit, that

You’d be forgiven

For thinking was obligation

Not heartfelt desire

On the day of too full

Bellies expanding on family

Marking off another year

Of unspoken, blinding fear

That despite the odds

And by diplomatic virtue

Adoringly refine and

Endearingly define us.

Delivered hard,

In short words,

And long pauses.

To my surprise

She’s caught me:

Full headlights

Frayed rope

Doe eyes and

Misplaced passion.

A photogenic instant,

Outside of any comfort:

My abandoned hope

A heated cattle prong

A silent fear, this swan song.

That I think will end me.

I want to hear ‘I love you’

In hot breath on my ear,

When I ask her what is wrong?

And she says ‘nothing’

Head cocked mockingly

She tells me that

I ‘look alright side on’.

Whether

December 7, 2018


Like mildew on leather

I was musty with trust

That antecedent

Precursive verse –

Of the unknown:

We laughed, I was laughing

Weathering busty stances

A rocking horse

A silhouette

The shadows danced

As shadows do

Must settling

Trust too

Like angel dust

On every surface.

Unsated

December 2, 2018


A construct of exchange is in my pocket

They say it burns a hole and so it seems

It scorches the landscape of my fingers

And as I deftly touch count the amount

Of loose change I have for an ‘avo’ on toast’

I come across a scene you couldn’t dream of.

And I realise that I revere this evil curse,

But even worse, that I’ve failed to see,

You cannot return wood to a tree.

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Six Pack

November 28, 2018


A six pack of Canadians

On the side of the road

One can out and open

He gently lays it down

And straightens to walk

With an uneasy swagger

His tobacco red fingers

On tobacco grey beard

And on his face anger

I grudgingly approach

And our eyes meet

So I nod and he smiles

His faint strength shames

Me and my passive evasion.

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