Morning Walk to Aldi and Back

After Arun Kolatkar’s “Jejuri”

A telegraph pole on the corner,

a hardwood character

it leans a little. Look around—

all of them under the weather.

More Trains. More Dust. No

Fourth Coal Terminal.

This notice nailed on a pole

out of arms reach.

And the sign for Park Street,

Mayfield. No park. A bowling

club and greens. A pool

of Olympic blue.

Doves on a wire. A line

of parked cars in the street,

and the birds don’t miss.

Magnolia glossy-green;

Robinia turning yellow

in the heat; Chinese Tallow-

woods short of breath. The

pores of the pavement open.

No shirt and stubbies. Elbows

propped and gut slung

behind a concrete fence.

He lights a smoke. It can’t

be the first of the day,

though it looks like it.

How ya going mate?

Not bad.

That’s good.

Australia Post: a new

red box on the corner.

Emptied by 6pm

weekdays or so it says.

Brown skin and fitted

black yoga pants. She

holds the car-door-open

pose perfectly.

So intelligent mate, they talk

to ya. The young Kelpie

squirms on the spot. Sit.

He ties her up. See,

she knows. The dog smiles.

The slow, slap-skid

of thongs. Clunk-clunk

cowboy boots on the other

side of the road; black hat

and jeans, an urban

summer outfit. Flowering

frangapinis crowd

the street. A Frida Kahlo-

pink on orange and the scent

of yellow over white.

She wears a house dress

to wave farewell. Daughter

and grand-kids strapped

in the new 4WD. A fine blue

network of varicose veins.

Highly commended Catchfire Press Poetry Competition 2016, published in Broken Ground UWAP