1. from behind, in photographs, there is a balding
moment when I do not recognise myself;
I’m driving, under the speed limit, a work vehicle,
towing a green trailer slowly being loaded with refuse.
it has two compartments for the Recycling,
and a coffin-size lidded box of chemicals
and equipment for toilet cleaning.
I talk, into the left hand holding the device,
notes, for this poem, about reimagining
my avatar, the weighing of Obligation
with Necessity, getting out to myself
the message of what to stop, so OldAge,
unable to support the irresponsible
adornments a flesh-groomed Ego thinks
it needs, wont collapse in the beautiful
crisis of vanity disappointed.
2. the shore-misted blue of the mountains
has changed as the Day ages,
as the sun burnt off the clouds.
clouds behind the ridge line
silhouette the podocarp
and the gauzy valley mists
of moving rain accentuate depth
and awe for scale and place and time.
I have stooped to scoop a dripping
mess of maggots moving in rice and meat
in the cold odour of milky take-away coffee
as a bag falls out of the bin & onto my feet.
it is both a cloak of honour
and a badge of some defeat
awarded in front of a high
heeled woman, travelling bohemian
europeans in their station wagon,
and a teenage netball team’s Away trip.
3. picture the day otherwise: I am
(would be) in homeless fingerless
gloves, sat on a folded cloth
on the smooth mars black supermarket
entrance, fingertips touching eucalypt,
eyes counting coins, heart expecting sympathetic
invitations to mourn the Tomahawk
and Hindenburg smuggled in the lethal
privacy of societal security and freedom.