Caleb thanks milko is a milkman? Durrie his cloth for wiping can??Darebin a
place/river not Durban
Liked the unfolding here -all time is borrowed seems (to me to be implied
does it need to be said?) looking forward to the next one -how about a
snapshotplease
Patrick
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and
poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Caleb Cluff
Sent: 14 February 2006 05:25
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: a poem almost
This is my first post... very unsure... is this the right way to go about
it? Posting I mean, tho' I'm not sure about the writing either sometimes...
Cutting the old man's hair
'Can I borrow some of your time, young fella?'
and I know I must go, jump the fence and go
to his land, to where
sit his low table and his chair.
Hands me a beer, and the shears are there. This slight ritual takes small
libation.
We begin our assignation.
Neat towel around the shoulders he's boxing clear
of our time, and on the Darebin again.
'Had my own chickens, ducks there too, and sold the eggs.
Played all day on the creek, no worries and when
I worked on the Council, the trucks, the fittest man, no fear.'
No fear.
'And Mum was tough - the milko ashed into the can. She knocked his durrie
from his hand
into the street...'
pausing briefly for race three
'and poured the milk out on the ground. The bugger never made a sound.'
Now silent as the clippers glide, the hairs on his neck briefly rise, in one
deep pleasure rolled inside.
Take the straightedge, cut these clean. The lines, like creeks white against
the tan, run long and flow inside the man.
Flicking the razor clean again, I drag my fingers on his skin. Somewhere's
my father, deep within.
His mother's in a nursing home...
All time is borrowed, I suppose.
I stroke the cut hair from his clothes.
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