Edinburgh
Gardens Visitation, Alfred Crescent
I
like to park my car there, outside of the grey house
the
one with the tower rising higher than the elms,
comfortable
in feigned ownership I saunter across the parkway.
Settling
on a council bench, looking back all these years
I’ve
wondered who lives there the lights so seldom on,
no
sound ever announces it’s us the lucky ones.
A
northern suburbs poltergeist, that won’t farewell
uninvited
on the first floor veranda I sip my coffee,
Victorian
in my slippers a pipe pretends to smoke.
Listening
to the real Lions roar, cork balls turn to rubber
as
the bands depart the rotundas displaced by pawing love,
the
trams running on the city side brush along the edges.
.
In
the warm proletarian evening, students’ frisbees gambol
crashing
the laid out blanket dinners paroled dogs shake their jaunt,
families
kindle in the apprehended moments.
It’s
time to go, brush down the country bumkyniness
cajole
the tired old hack into one more,
jousting
tilt at the wavering windmill up those stairs.
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