At 5:03am I have visions of 5:04,
The alarm clock shines out green in the night
And someone has broken the glass behind which the electronic numbers shine
The cracks like spiderwebs, glisten
As I wait for the numbers to change.
On the St. Kilda pier yesterday
I picked up a starfish that had been left to die on a bench by a fisherman
I peeled him off the cold wood and held his sticky body
And wondered if he were alive,
Then I dropped him over the side into the black water
And he sunk slowly
Like a dream disappearing into the clouds.
I read in the newspaper of some fool
Who broke his leg in New York
And boasted he could drink like Ernest Hemingway
And that he sat in a bar New York the night his leg snapped
Slumped over a drink opposite David Lowy
That airplane millionaire.
At 5:03, it makes me think of money
An oil man stands in my mind
Telling me he has been broke 4 times and is now richer than ever
“Borrow money, put it in the share market” he roars “what could go wrong?
If you should bust, go again, who cares?”
It is still 5:03.
A woman laughs about how clever she is
Her daughter writes of the pain of love
A man with a pencil thin beard and a ludicrously large baseball cap
Is nodding silently in a bar.
I can see him from my window.
“Borrow that money and put it all on shares” the oil man yells
“Wait outside women’s toilets and ask them to go to bed with you…”
Still it is 5:03 and the world is crazy.
The world is always crazy at the end of a minute.
I picture 5:04 and the peace it will bring.