COMPROMISING THE AMBIANCE

What happened was

I noticed my heart was beating.

Not that it ever stopped, but

you understand.

I was watching a guitar man on YouTube break down

Tommy Emmanuels Classical Gas 

at the time. Of all times.

A small, good thing it’s beating 

without my asking.

My eyes rise to the buildings and sky without.

A homeless man in Fremantle 

thumbing through an expired passport

takes me off my mantle.

The chamfered corner of it below a crestfallen belfry.

The old brawn of the right-angled neck atop the spinal column 

works hard. 

Is there something solemn in this man travelling to far-off places 

he remembers tender, or has the mind forgot like blurry birth.

Or has he never been beyond Perth.

Then the big one

in the loud group

at the library, of all places,

states at volume

I wouldn’t see Taylor Swift

if you gave me orange juice all night.

He’s surely right.

Even though he holds the newspaper impossibly close to his face.

Even though his reading looks like he’s trying to hide from some old lover poorly.

His loud friends don’t seem to mind

Or else they gave up ages ago saying 

Get some glasses man.