(or) Two doors, six rats
You could do that then.
In permanent blue felt tip,
ex-schoolgirl swim champ Sharon
wrote out Ginsberg's Howl on the door
of the salmon kitchen cupboard
in our share house in Heidelberg
and when it wouldn't all
fit, she used the inside of the cupboard
and the final stanza even leaked
on to the laminex bench top next to the sink.
No, hang on, it was America, the one
with the line asking when he'd be able to buy
what he wanted from supermarkets
with his good looks.
Found five dead rats while decommissioning
a spa in our new house this morning. Hollow
sockets for eyes, whip-long tails, time-holes
in their jaws, requiring prising off
the old floorboards where they'd stuck.
Sharon had been bequeathed a white Valiant
so for the first time we had a car parked
in our cracked concrete driveway.
We could shop in the suburbs.
And drive to parties.
One night I didn't feel like it
when I got there, Punt Road pizza
curdling in my guts, so I asked Sharon
for the keys to sit it out in the car.
You could do that then.
I poked my nose in from time to time
but Sharon was enjoying herself,
adopting the right combination of cynicism
and celebration which I could never pull off.
Do you mind if I head off, is what
I remember asking, seeing she had heaps
of friends there to give her a lift home.
So I scarpered, drove home and conked.
Can't remember which I heard first:
the yelling: 'Hey, bastard,' or the sound
of my bedroom door being kicked.
All know is it went on for a bit
so I got up, locked the door
(I slept in the old lounge room
which had a key for some reason)
and went back to bed.
Next day she was still dark on me.
Turned out she'd had to score a lift home
with some creep, after thinking
her car had been stolen.
Thud! Thud! She really gave that door
a workout. I'd never experienced naked
emotion outside the family.
Went on to a singing career, Sharon.
Heard her on my Corolla radio years later.
First single was a smash. Spanish Seas.
Second stalled but she was on the rise again
with her third when cancer clubbed her.
Dead at 52; famous husband, kids.
Rats went out in the bin, along with broken
slate levered off walls and floors.
Should we polish the floorboards?
How come, Sharon once asked,
everybody we know is fucked?
You could say that then.
bw
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