Victoria Street, Darlinghurst

As a sign of respect, four cops

in their brand new bright yellow

combat-look caps

slide on some leather gloves before touching

a half naked invalid. Everything said is lost with the lights

as a gas truck rounds the corner with a load of co2

over the hill to the swimming pool

perched at the foot of St Mary's cathedral

to refill yet another tank.


Down the road in the palm grove

at the gardens the flying fox colony

are starting their nightly pilgrimage

across the city out to Moore park

and every other figged street and

flowering native, from the corner of Cleveland

and South Dowling

to Burwood's Sandakan memorial

where, in the noonish heat

of a pre office hours weekday morning

a worker laboriously carries a stack of hairless piglets

trussed and thawing on his back

along Clarendon Place

as the council car park fills.

Halfway up the steepest incline

on Enmore road

a bus driver stands in the doorway of a takeaway

arms folded, smooth hair, crisp shorts ending

just above the knee

tall white socks just below;

an elderly passenger on a passing bus

turns to her friend and says

Now there goes a man who cares about his appearance.

poet's biography ->