From old incinerators
in th backyards
of th tiny,
derelict houses,
smoke would rise
from th backyards
of elderly neighbours
on a Saturday afternoon,
already illegal, banned,
because of th pollution
th Melbourne bonfires,
th smoky haze on bleak,
wintery days, burning
th unsolicited advertising
blowing down th street,
leaves and cuttings
from old, gnarled trees,
we started 'burning off"
too, drafts of poems,
unkind correspondence,
worn-out cardboard boxes
from th many, frantic moves
th newspaper dailies
th suburban papers
if th Salvos hadn't
been around for a while,
to collect th tied-up bundles
Dear Jeltje, How lovely, a poem I can smell! I only ever owned a fireplace once in my life - and how right it felt to burn extinct drafts of misbegotten poems and other kinds of unkind correspondance, all drawn up the flue and into the dark sky.
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