James Norcliffe


the kids are smoking


beyond the balcony
the bush in the breeze
their clumpy round heads
are moving clouds of green

olearia paniculata smoky
olive yellow and crinkly
hiding the paths and follies

down there
the kids are whistling
taking the piss out of the birds

they’re cutting across the diagonals
leaving treadmarks scars and blazes
stripping lacebark petticoats
from the ribbonwoods

they squat on the rocks
squint up through
dusty shafts through the sway
to the vapour trails

down there the kids are smoking
small clouds of white
and they are proud
of their brown fingers


the kids are digging
beneath the road
it is their one hope
to see a car vertical

its back wheels spinning
like chocolate wheels
like rubber mandalas
like a movie

the kids lift their hands
in supplication
small white birds
fly from their fingers


Author’s Note


  <       Top       >