poem
WRITTEN:
1998, 31 years
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This, along with Waiting for the Band, was composed on April 19 while I was sitting in the beer garden of a pub, waiting for the headline act to start. I was annoyed with myself for not having brought something to read to pass the time, so I started mindlessly scribbling whatever came into my head. Many Sydneysiders will know to what this piece refers, but will hopefully not be offended. It's not one of my greatest creations, after all.
"Come to Parklea Markets!" they say
As though it's some kind of shrine
Shoppers making the pilgrimage
Passing gold and silver
and Plastic
Over the merchants' palms
Aisle after aisle
Row after row
Table after table
Goods as far as the eye can see
- and farther
Trinkets, talismans, tokens
(and more expensive fare)
Has anyone noticed where this place is?
Out West
Into the sunset
Spaghetti pizza, anyone?
FUNNY HOW FLANNIES USED TO BE SO WESTIE
AND NOW ANYONE CAN WEAR 'EM
(THOUGH NOT NECESSARILY WITH STYLE -
MY ELDERLY MOTHER
IN A BROWN FLANNIE SHIRT
AND NEATLY PRESSED BROWN NYLON SLACKS
IS NOT THE SORT OF THING I FIND VISUALLY APPEALING)