I arrive early,
come back later.

When I arrive later,
a certain look.

Sitting and waiting
on the wooden seat.

Shaded by the Plain tree,
leg hair moves in the wind.

People watching;
odds and ends on election day.

A crow talks shit.
Maybe it’s a pissed off Cockatoo;
no, it’s a crow
perched on the sign Drinking Water.

Waiting and watching,
everything hurts from the hard seat.

Learning about people
and listening to random conversations.

The crow is a squeaky wheel;
the cloud cover dims the soft light.

The odd looks continue,
and my finger keeps touching the keys.

Saturday morning, in the madness
bursting with cars, and
a shit Council incapable of foresight.

On election day,
a day we should be grateful for,
I wonder about this two-faced place.

A Hole in the Brick Wall

Walking towards work; dreaming about being rich, staying in bed, champers for breakfast, bending our legs together, and trying out the waffle maker.

Reality floods back and I realise my skirt is too tight; the Covid Spread, like a Biscoff addiction, gone wrong, has me in its hold.

Walking down the ally towards the office, noticing the Passion Pop bottles placed randomly near the old broken door, and feeling university nostalgia coming on like an awkward chance meeting.

Turning back, I see the brick wall, and a door leading to more bricks, pipes, a hidy hole for one. A cat passes over there looking for food in the bins, and I feel sad; humans shit me sometimes.

Standing in an ally, hoping no cars come by to take me from my thoughts, and staring into the magical Dandewrong wall portal, hoping it will take me to another dimension; away from the grind.

Nothing happens. It is a hole in the wall, and nothing more. Then I look again and think this is only a reminder of the crumbling history we once knew. Crumbling history before our eyes, as this place becomes something else.