here, I am uneasy
this place is strange, this space
empty. This incubator, sterile compound.
your unit. Myself glimpsed
in glass (in fragments), a full-length window pane
Ghost image on a TV screen
you disturb me
the air –
so sharp it hurts, this high
vertigo –
you make my eyes smart
Far removed, a burglar siren jams
(you alarm me)
the heavy breathing of cars, below
you oppress
like a radio not quite tuned to the stations
a shadow pall –
a phone left off the hook
Like this:
Like Loading...
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.
