AUSTRALIA

leswicks@hotmail.com

http://leswicks.tripod.com/lw.htm

That PROBLEM

Why can't I write it?

I met a Prime Minister once.
Easily distracted from subjects less interesting than himself,
his smile was like the brightest fingerling
sunlight grab.
That's 4 lines about
no great thing.

I've met your mob too -
probably more than most white blokes -
less than necessary.
You're as bland, vile or luminous as us all
but that's not the point.

I see you dance on powdered land
the sacred lines.
You paint for a $50 pop
then beat your wives.

For rage or exercise,
not the point.

Hear about astonishing Aunties
who hold the kids together -
mother father elder.

Seen you in suits, the dark head
in a crowd of flour, fish roe on vichyssoise.
Your medicine, law books & politics are not the point.

My school's fiercest bully was another
(though we never knew then).
Threw me off the embankment
with a scientific violence.
He ended up in Nimbin, last I heard.

I saw a statue in a mission church,
the once vibrant Jesus - palms out -
faded imploration as he slouched.
Caged in chicken wire "'cause of the vandals"
he was just another beggar.

Never had a meaningful talk with one
but that's rare enough everywhere -
property, holidays, health, kids, sport
... the stuff we go on about.

Another time taught one, eyes quartz light
at fresh found delight.
Two others said nothing
as the lunch bell tensed like a snake.

I have said sorry
on some organized book.
An intelligent man
nice, compassionate man
means I want to do more -
this is our past
with a mean, impotent edge.
Why can't I write it?

© All Copyright, Les Wicks.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.