Always these intersecting lines
a railway junction, a train
terminal: wires and bolts, a barrier parallel
to the sky. Below looking up
Always these greys, it’s always
raining. A crossroad leading to a street
that bends. Downwards: bitumen and pitch
black shadows, sharp
iron railings: a vertical grid
lights refracted, unbroken
housefronts
Always at an angle, cold slabs drained sinister
impassive, oppressive, too narrow too
tall perpendicular dull white and upright
there
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Australian-born, with English mother, has lived in several Australian cities and in London. Travelled widely. Way way back when, published widely as a poet and short story writer. For the first 20 years of my working life I worked as an entertainment journalist, publicist, PR consultant and in advertising and media agencies. In the second 20 years, I worked in marketing roles at non-profit organisations then retrained as a teacher, primarily teaching English to non-English speaking, newly-arrived refugees. Also did miserable McJobs, and a long, happy stint at an art gallery.
