So mistaken
she looks frightened, wan
a blank face, and dull
no understanding (like a peasant)
no response (a smacked-out hooker)
one
person emptied bleak
alone and
nothing in the world can make this right
Patagonia
iceflint fear
Life, more or less – more often
less – a desolate chill
remote
this is nowhere
she knows
she’s nothing, lichen on a rock
but if
still saying nothing
she just sits
and smiles the next time
life will go on
still clinging
much as before
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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.
