Communion

While I weed and potter

a jovial thrush keeps up a prolonged dissertation

on a conversational note, with inflexion

reminiscent of a day in France

when a local woman of relatable age

in the queue at the gare, engaged

me in earnest discourse

while I ouied and nodded

and ouied and smiled as you do

and ouied and mirrored her mood

and ouied over a rising urge to burst

into laughter, until her tone

and repetition conveyed

that a reply was expected;

so I confessed in my own tongue

that I was another ignorant foreigner,

tested my je ne comprends pas,

and detached myself as she turned away

in what may have been disgust or pity

or embarrassment.

My thrush makes no demands,

content to have an audience

or so I presume.

A flying visit

Descending to the city

over the bed of a ravelling ropy river

flanked with bare poplars and clumps of dry grass

as it cuts across a geometry

of green and orange squares,

lines of trees and oval horse tracks,

a river drawn down scoring its own course

to end at the levelling ocean;

the tip of a wing dip

a pop of pressure in one ear

and a change in the engine drone

extract me again from my book

and for a moment I wrestle my focus

from a broadly congested life

to the constricted world

of a frail

mother

in a bed

in a small

private hospital

waiting for my visit

waiting to the end.

Wheel of fortune

When you go with a list of four problems

but the doctor has time for just two,

when you’ve scraped up his fee since last pay day

and there’s scarcely enough left for food,

how does it feel to be bound to a wheel

in a life as surreal as a circus?

When the bruise on your face is less painful

than the shame of which you can’t speak,

when the doctor just offers you Panadol,

then asks you if you still smoke,

how does it feel to be bound to a wheel

in a life as surreal as a circus?

When you wanted to talk of depression

but the kids scream and fight in the corner,

when the din makes it hard to be heard

so you mention instead your sore shoulder,

how does it feel to be bound to a wheel

in a life as surreal as a circus?