So this is what it feels like

[Older poem. Took the photo in the Sydney beachside suburb of Coogee seven years ago; love the ambiguity of the resident: Buddha and boxing…]

So this is what it feels like

to be living at a turning point
in human history

the toast still gets burned
rosellas chew the netted apples
pin oaks rust autumn’s engine till it fires

we walk our leashed dogs, plastic bags at the ready
trains roll by on the great south line with containers from Hamburg Süd
we still don’t like our neighbours or ourselves

mint toothpaste tastes exactly like mint toothpaste
shopping lists win poetry competitions
there’s still nothing on TV

weeds inch up slopes, rabbits sideways, glaciers seawards
rains, fires, cyclones, moods, hemlines, lovers, warning books
come and go come and go

most commute, holiday on killing fields, bathe between the flags or don’t
we await each new catastrophe with discomfort, anger, glee, then turn the page
we scan the obituaries for the relief of not yet finding ours

we write poems about small birds, mushrooms, the delicate shadings
of a toilet seat, language
writer audiences cram writer festivals featuring writers on writing about writing

there’s still nothing on TV
the toast still gets burned
time to turn the page of history, we’re done

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~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on July 18, 2017.

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