She paved an eight-lane highway
Over my trodden path to the sea,
Straightway to hell spans concrete gray
Speeding towards fire in a cold-sweat frenzy.
She stared me down on the train
With her million dilating eyes,
She stamped my hand “insane”,
Fed me five-dollar steak and fries.
The blues walked me to the pub one day,
The white-noise inside bleached everything clean
The barman said I couldn’t stay
My mug shot behind the bar read: this freak votes green.
To be in Sydney is to be out-of-place
Gaunt, depressed, devoid of grace.


View this poem on The Disappearing »