Category: Truth

A little city on the hem off the world
beneath the Southern Cross
everything was looked up to.
Insular and complacent. Change – drying paint.
New families stayed three or five years
fathers arriving as senior clerks
leaving to become assistants, deputies, almosts.
Ascenders
the next rung more important than the present.

The men were brylcreemed and wore hats
women perms and never trousers.
Everybody was titled : Mr. Mrs. Miss. Dr.
to be used without fail.
Except two unmarried friends of my mother.
Rhonda and Margaret.

“Rhonda” and “Margaret” – just that – always
even when
21-year-old single men were compulsorily Mr
and
19 year old wives “Mrs” – to teenagers.

One step
a low ascent to adolescence’s highest peak
a voice an equal age in years but older
“I don’t think you need these”
practised hands slide trousers down unresisting legs.
Dark hair fans across pale shoulders
a not before seen expression of many imaginings
the man on top
the woman beneath
there were rumours of others, but for now this was enough.

Travel posters glimpsed and desired
an exotic destination
banter leads to booking.
cancellation rehearsed before confirmation.

The zodiac favour falls in an ambiguous arc
boy bravado expected complicit exemption
now in the rushing confusion
youth’s most desired waypoint collides
with its greatest fear – chickening out.
Nothing more shameful than loss of nerve
except loss of face
the sister of a friend
failure will not go unreported – or unpublished.
Reputation’s requiem, a chorus of sniggering begins to play
choice slinks away
the alternative is so much worse.

No one would have called her pretty
rumpled face
high forehead
wire wool hair of implausible colour
and tongue sharpened on two ex-husbands.

Her name was of a well-known flower
no scent or petals
only thorns
maybe it was winter in her life
and
a patient gardener prune for spring.

People said she was witty
had been a prankster in faded years
fifty-seven
seeming ninety five
to a twenty two-year-old.

Her workday appeared to consist of solving crosswords.
many years later I came to appreciate
this strange honesty.
No subterfuge or pretence
the passive tools of defiance openly visible
a book of puzzles, a dictionary, scrap paper. Refreshing.