15 Wisdom Street
the woman next door
is not talking to her husband
she rakes a garden argument
punishes leaves, brawls with flowers
frustrated by the strength of weeds
kneels on a stone and swears
inside the house
her husband smokes
and reads the paper, turns
each urgent page amazed
that he is not news
he wonders who writes
true histories of pain, of hate
newsprint stains
his fingers like guilt
The sphinx at your door
at this pebbled frontier
steps a lame man
singing heads I win
tails I win
free of the leaping herd's
nostalgia for the precipice
lost
in the dusty interval
between the bubble sun
and bubble moon
(those liars)
all that is outside
him torrents in him
but he sings
I am a porous man
heads I win
tails I win
Little Oxford Street
old men sleep
in the back
of abandoned cars
warm in muscat
dreams under dirty
overcoats
plastic garbage bags
torn by dogs reveal
tin smiles, ash,
rotted fruit, letters
not worth keeping,
small bones
old men wake like Thomas
who had to touch to believe
Everyday masterpiece
enthroned
on their cool verandah
the old ones
connoisseurs
of light and shade
resolve
all problems
of proportion
each fragile gesture
a brush-stroke
in a self-portrait
nearing completion
John Ellison Davies lives in Gosford, New South Wales. His poems and short stories have appeared in numerous magazines and newspapers including Southerly and The Australian. Selected poems have been broadcast on ABC Radio National's A First Hearing and Poetica.
Street number image from Shutterstock