Bad Eye

I visited my shrink, said I’m sure I just need glasses–
I can fake a smile with my good eye
but the other one’s forgetting
how to apperceive the lie.

That’s excellent! she beamed. We’re making progress.
It’s a sign you have an eye now on the future.

Act Lawson, Scene Shakespeare

What stellar system on the sidereal rose
at geodetic two four seven goes?
It is the azimuth of Christmas eventide,
and the favorite is leading by a nose;
he leads the pack that always comes behind.

Extend, good arm, and shoot from west-southwest
–who is already where the sun has set–
an arc across the great celestial rose,
with a stick that’s good for fetching in it,
that falls behind the favorite by a nose.

By what your eyes suppose, be not perturbed;
behind the favorite’s further than observed
and none could throw that far, but it’s the principle:
if you cast along this parallel unswerved,
you stand to trip the light reciprocal.

It is for nothing, O, it is for naught!
What loss upon my senses have I brought?
The favorite’s nose is trained upon the shoulder
of a giant lying naught naught naught to port
and twenty-three point five degrees to starboard.

My train of thought’s behind; I’ll bring it round.
The favorite’s training can’t be all too sound.
What if, despite the giant’s reputation,
he is really just a big rodeo clown?
That would explain the Mallee bull in station,

but how the asterism at his waistline
comes up–a three note bass line walking four time
with a Mallee bull that’s fit to be his fiddle–
through the middle, out of nowhere in behind,
is an outright inexplicable!

Latitude: The Men Who Come Behind – Henry Lawson
Longitude: Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet – Act II Scene II

On Coming Home

I reheat the leftover rice for one minute
and zap the tinned con carne for two,
then scoop the rice over the con carne and finish
the pair of them off in the blink of an instant
distraction as seen on the smart flatscreen boob.

I make it my business to eyeball the news
during dinner and call that my workday’s denouement:
Evenings are new days for taking a cruise
through analog music and internet ooze–
destination, blues bruising amusement.

Sometimes my TV turns on by itself,
I forget where I was and think, “There goes my cue.”
One tub from my freezer of two ice cream shelves
(no shelves in this freezer for anything else)
is wrapped in a tea towel and topped with a spoon.

The sugar guilt starts about ten minutes in
to the tub and by twenty the tic
and the toc of the clock are performing incisions
like calls from a Wasted Souls sales division.

I turn off the TV, retire to bed,
and fall asleep reading a book.


This jacaranda leaf with brief
appearance by your common fly
snapped with EOS-450D

–exposure time one-eightieth
and focal length at fifty-five–

on a Western Sydney sky
of blue last Autumn, in relief,
is brought to you by poetry

of seconds in their tenths
and millimetre lengths respectively.

*Written tonight in one sitting as a challenge to practice rapping the half rhyme with a deadline imposed for postage by bedtime.