Tuesday, August 15, 2006
13 July 2006
I know I'll get home late. It's certain now. I knew it by the time
I got over the bridge and I saw three pigeons drinking from a puddle
left from the water-truck. (Pigeons are the only birds that can suck against gravity.)
I stopped by them, not scaring them, letting them drink. I stood quietly, but
I knew I was late because they scared. I must have moved, or just thought
about moving. A nervous almost movement. Pigeons can feel these things. I couldn't
keep the quiet inside me. I was halfway across the bridge before I moved. Before I
saw them clatter away. One came right at me. So close I smelt it. Like stale asphalt.
Last week down at the beach I was eating dinner with Nathalie when I saw
a sick pigeon waddle across the road. I wanted it to fly, but it couldn't. It disappeared
beneath a car and I heard a snap. What makes that noise when they get crushed?
Nathalie said it was the bones, but I thought it was the liquid tension snapping
like rubber. Like when you burst the bubbles in bubble wrap. When you can't stop
doing it. I started to skip when I got over the bridge. The traffic was wet with warm
water that's used to cool the bridge down so it won't buckle. So it can open
and close. Nathalie thinks I'm not going to make it, but she can't always be right.
I've caught up with myself since I'm moving fast. There's the short-cut
through the strip mall, and I can climb over the fence to cut across the reserve.
So why am I standing here on the corner? It's six, and I'm late. Nathalie
must be telling mum everything, and mum's looking at the clock. I'm
hot and can feel the moisture sticking to my dress. It has formed a dark line
beneath my breasts. I'll text her, that cheat. I'll tell her what I'm doing now. She's
not invited. im on my wy hme nat / im hot & im evaprting.
// posted by George Manka @ 3:07 PM 
Comments:
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We're evaprting here, too.
I plucked my first twist of jasmine, its scent wafts through the kitchen.
Intriguing poem. Have you taken Nathalie back to the Coogee of our primary school years in your poetry-tardis?
Cheerioh from the Bundi!
I plucked my first twist of jasmine, its scent wafts through the kitchen.
Intriguing poem. Have you taken Nathalie back to the Coogee of our primary school years in your poetry-tardis?
Cheerioh from the Bundi!
We are still in the doldrums of summer here, although the weather is fouled up by the various Gulf Stream systems, and other various saints days.
Remember Seals & Crofts...
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine,
blowin' through the jasmine in my mind.
Remember Seals & Crofts...
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine,
blowin' through the jasmine in my mind.
I am glad I got here,I like the pictures and the poetry...is the picture yours? Can I put you on my links?If possible please reply to my blog, thanks
Thanks Plus Ultra,
The picture is from the Catalan painter Tapies. I would be happy if you put my blog on your links.
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The picture is from the Catalan painter Tapies. I would be happy if you put my blog on your links.
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