from the
jungle parish in Papua New Guinea, ten
years previous. He pounds at the
peck-deck in his lounge room
wishing the garden hand were an opera
singer. Several repeats of the
pole-twists and his bowels grunt like a
sermon. A final glass of claret drops
him to his knees ashen faced. His
big bath steams plump now, full
as the Jordan river. The one bedroom
light burns on the lemon bush
which holds its globes of fruit like
a juggler stopped mid-trick.

Chelmsford Street, Newtown, Sydney

5. Corruption Is Glorified Mateship

Its Bastille Day in Sydney.
The weird man in the moon falls to the
night basket. Stars roll out
another lottery and unemployment raises
dust over the land. Tout est perdu
fors lhonneur. Among thieves.
Running with images I whirl out the
rainbow. Spring flutters as the National
flag to salute the pilot whales
herding one more disastrous landing.
Waves roll head-to-head round
the plate of The Great South Land.
Which way to Wynyard, calls
the currawong. Helicopters line up like
magi over Bankstown. When you
look up, that old full moon makes you
feel like a cowpoke, dont it?

6. Inner City Camping Blues

under a dusty-hulled moon out
of an empty Hollywood lot placed there
in the out-take of twilight. The
bus families have arrived in convoy.
Stolidly parked nearby in protest
at two suburban parks up for auction in
a depressed market. A couple of
pitched tents and an Information Stand
of press clippings. Kids play in a
refuse pit between tossed aside railway
sleepers. Slung about the Council
Chambers fairy lights all a twinkle since
the last bi-election a year back;
not much in this, not even a picnic.

Tarts & Takeaways

is what hes into, he said &
thats fine by me (William street in
winter and pissing down is the pits)
standing around in doorways waiting
for some totally wasted guy excuse me!
its a trick is what it is to
slap his dumb meat between my thighs.
Hey, Im Jasmine though I dont
feel like one. Mostly bored.
On each hip Ive got this tattoo, says
Allan kind of smudgy & out of focus
because its real old. The main
man. A jerk off really in someone
elses life. A lifer. Summers
shit, more noise and especially groups.
For hours or however long it takes
& I do Spanish & French, but Im
better at French. Sometimes not much
happens. Idle as a lizard pointing
brickwork on hot buildings, someone said.
I read in this magazine once,
(I meet all sorts) an