Crazy socks day at work
He was 36
At the same age his father has four kids, his own home and investments
He sat in his cubicle and looked at the socks he wore
Yellow Submarines on them.
Mary wore rainbow socks
Sarah wore sock crocodiles
Howard rested his head on his desk, half drunk, wearing the grey socks he always wore.
It seemed wrong to be wearing crazy socks
Johnson hanged himself last week
He had caught his wife cheating
Hanged himself
He had said hung himself but was corrected in the meal room
Crazy socks to raise money for or awareness of
He couldn’t remember what
He thought it would be right if it were to raise money for families who had lost loved ones
The crazy socks were thin and he could feel the hard soul of his leather shoes
Books
Coming Home
Broken at 9 pm, glass shards on the road crunch underfoot.
I worked late, walking home.
Seeing the streets with new eyes;
Single mother sitting on the front door step with baby
A man delivers brochures to houses
Another brings out the bin.
A man walks a white dog, a cat leaps a fence and turns on a sensor light.
Someone backs a truck onto their front lawn
And a yellow moon rises above the houses.
A terrible valley filled with houses
A helicopter lands at the airport
The hospital’s yellow lights and strange smell.
My feet feel tired
I wish I lived in a beach village.
Work again tomorrow, looking forward to retirement and death.
No ghosts
She used to play the piano in the lounge room
Until her hands hurt too much, and she could no longer move her fingers across the keys.
Then, she spent her time by the large bay windows, letting the breeze cool her of an evening.
She only had a few months of that, then she died.
One morning I came to her room and knocked.
She was dead in her bed.
We buried her; I played some piano music from an expensive speaker.
What could I do with the piano?
There was nothing to do so I left it in the lounge room.
I sat in front of the bay window and let the breeze drift across me.
The house is empty and silent without her
I imagine her ghost in the room
But what frightens me most of all
Is that there are no ghosts.
Night air
I don’t know if I’ve got it in me tonight
The same streets and shops
The same faces
The sunny day, the rainy day
The health and sickness.
I stand by the supermarket and watch the rain fall off the roof and puddle in the car park
I wonder where to from here.
The night comes
The street lights
It’s still raining.
The saddest I’ve been is standing outside a mattress and bed shop
At 2 am
Looking at the beds on display.
A snapshot of Blenchow Bay
The stone house
Painted white inside
With white windows
Had five rooms
Two bedrooms,
Dining room
Library
Sitting room.
The kitchen and bathroom were separate rooms behind the house.
The front windows had a view over the bay.
The yard that stretched for twelve acres wide,
Ended in a path that cut down to the water and sandy beach.
In that house, Ingrid had raised four children
Loved a husband and lost him
Seen her eighteen birthday
And now, on a rain-soaked, grey October day, saw her 80th.
She began the day at five, watching the rain drops run down her Smokey-glassed windows
Watching the fishing boats in the harbour
With their lights disappearing out of the bay.
She had already set the fire in the kitchen and in the sitting room
Now she had bread baking, clothes drying and the net that she was mending
Set up across the timber grid.
It was a cold, quiet day; the sound of the rain on the roof kept her company
She rubbed her hands together and felt how dry they were, like autumn leaves
She did not need to go into town today and looked forward to resting in the afternoon.
Salamanca Bay
Eyeing the water
Sitting on timber boards
Drinking in the dark
We watched the boats in the bay
I wondered how the people get to the boats from the shore.
We sat there until late in the night
Moonlight played on the white boats
One name stood out, Penelope.
An old man sat on the bow
Scrubbing the side of the boat with a brush.
Later, I walked home beside the blue-white quay
And saw the little rowboats that must have been the answer.
I turned from the harbour and wandered up into the city
Passing the 19th-century sandstone buildings
The night was full of ghosts.
Harbour Street
Where I used to live
In a room in the corner of an old brick building
The streets would stretch out in all directions
Some winding down beside the river, some disappearing through horse lanes
One stopped at a rock cliff
The last one ending at the harbour.
A man lived in a building opposite, and he would dress up each day
Winter or summer, In a thick coat
And head down to the water to fish
His wife would wait for him
She would clean the house
Talk to the neighbours
Go out sometimes on her own.
They had lived in that house for fifty-eight years.
She had a stroke one winter afternoon
The man would only fish once a week, then
He had to stay home and look after her
He grew thinner
I never saw her again
One night, at midnight,
There was a funny smell like toast being burned and burned
Then the street filled with smoke
And there were sirens and fire trucks stuffed into that old street
So nothing could move; even the hoses had a hard time getting out
An electric blanket had smouldered into flame and killed them both
Seafresh Laundry, 31 Beckworth Street
Sarah worked in the laundry,
She worked hard
Her hands red, and back sore
She wore the uniform, a blue dress
Twice divorced, kids in the Catholic school
She never had enough money, even with the Sunday shift.
Henry drove and unloaded the trucks
A lady’s man, he took to Sarah
And pursued her, winning her eventually.
Henry never could value things correctly
And his days of breaking and lying were far from over.
Sarah had a recurring dream
Where she was on holiday
In a beach resort where she was swimming in the sea,
Her foot caught in rocks, the ocean rising
She could not breathe, and choking she would wake.
Henry saw her do this twice
And eating breakfast with her kids in the last morning
He sneered at the daughter and asked her what she wanted to do in life
The daughter looked down at the table and did not speak.
Henry set his eye to find new pastures.
Sarah pushed the load into the dryer
And wondered where things went wrong
And that surely they would improve.
Steam rose from the top of the vent
And out a window into the cold day
Age
The clouds parted
and like light through the trees,
the sun danced around the puddles
shining like coins on the wet, shiny stones.
My legs hurt from sitting down all day
and I didn’t feel well
I was too fat
and the less I did the lazier I became.
The oval was wet
and the heels of my boots sunk into the muddy grass
and I remembered when I was a boy
that I loved to wade through puddles and sink into mud.
I was so thin when I was young,
and full of energy
but I could sleep for 12 hours straight too if I wanted.
Those times seem lost now,
gone cheaply
as if I took fifteen years of my life and set them on fire.
Apartment building on 347 Favoux Street
The clerk working in the bank
Itching his legs under the desk and getting up to go the bathroom
For the third time this hour.
He walks home after work.
It has been raining and water pools on the footpath
And drips from the shop awnings.
At home, he stands in his kitchen and heats up
A packet of noodles.
Outside it begins to rain again and his little window mists over.
The water boils in the saucepan slowly,
Like a bath.
He has talked his neighbour into going out with him.
She is a small woman, with a friendly smile.
He meets her at her front door,
She is wearing a blue dress with blue buttons
He is wearing a brown polo shirt.
He takes her to the movies.
Afterwards, they walk along the pier
And eat spiralised potatoes.
She tells him about her last boyfriend,
And how he drank too much
He listens with a pretend interest,
Hiding his annoyance.
Back in her apartment
She puts a movie on Netflix
And they sit down to watch for a while,
Until yawning, she asks him to come into the bedroom
And they have sex.
He leaves at two am
Feeling the dampness that the night brings
And the dampness that this kind of love brings
And he sleeps a deep sleep
That only the numb can sleep.
In the morning he wakes late and has to rush to work.
She wakes late, and not having to start work until the afternoon
She takes a bath.
She makes it as hot as she can
And watches the clouds through the skylight
And wonders what the day will bring.
Calmly she thinks about last night;
As if youth lasted forever.
David G O'Sullivan 