from Tales of the Weird and the Grotesque
1.
Where kids fold their eyelids
and tics are ‘learning’
and cars are towed up the big hill
by begrudging farmers
who don’t have lots of land
remaining
having sold off pockets
to lifestylers
to see property prices drop
(having made their fortunes)
and the lifestylers
bolt
and a ‘different quality
of folk move in’:
domestic violence
roo shoots in the reserve
fly-in fly-out speed freaks
to cover
the crimes that came
with ‘settling’, its inequalities
absentee landlords,
parole boards,
eyes of the State.
2.
Live and let live
the highest point
to survey in arcs,
vistas, ‘the view’:
crescents
where dance floors are built
on the ‘disco burial ground’:
and that’s the selling point
before the architects
get out and split their sides
laughing.
Speculators study
derivations of family names,
clusters.
3.
It’s fifteen years since
I got straight: lying low
where the drugs
prompt a worship
of bushrangers.
4.
Out in the earthquake
zone they are planting
acres and acres
of gm canola
it brings rainbows
and ejaculations
of company
seed.
5.
It’s the ‘witchy look’.
A warning.
Long black hair, tatts,
Jack Daniel’s
and bare midriff
no matter the weather.
You’re all fair game.
Watch out.
Crystals just
get a look in.
And herbs
you smoke.
Gender is simple and complex
but gender is never
absent.
6.
Parallels: diet
income
notions of pleasure (bush walks, scramble bikes, electronic games,
ligatures, bush-bashing, meditation, movies {by Rob Zombie or The Bridges
of Madison County}, gardening {mull or vegetables or natives or rose gardens}, sex, drinking, handicrafts, tattoos, spells: parallels,
hierarchies. Property: renting. Bailiffs. Landlords.
ac/dc: everyone, or nearly.
7.
Some of the girls in our son’s Year Two class refer to the Nyungar
boys as ‘little black boys’. These are their exact words.
And these girls are often, if not exclusively, blonde.
Some of the Nyungar boys have blond
hair as well. But it doesn’t count.
And the blonde girls’ parents
don’t think so either. Some have dragon tattoos,
some own posh businesses in the district. Or both?
The twain. The twain. The twain.
8.
And who lives off the back of:
painters
musos
poets
look in, squint, overhear, eavesdrop,
vast quantities of Panadeine Extra
sold at the pharmacy
commute to the city,
not long: lots of crosses
on roadside.
9.
Gasmask man loves leather girl
in the mainstreet—every
day; gi-normous cock and balls
on the ramps at the skate park.
Underworld.
Kiss kiss.
Sample.
10.
Historic cars.
Historic towns.
Historic hotels.
Historic licensees.
Holding the table
historically. ‘Legends
in their own lunchtime’.
But legends.
Historically.
11.
Bullies
and bull terriers.
Dogs die for dogs,
and some people
as well.
12.
Divide: horse whisperers/
worshippers of the horse’s
penis. Seriously, a topic
of discussion. A few
too many jokes
at the expense of.
And the horses divided by a fence,
standing next to each other. Exact
alignment, looking out, ahead.
Not frolicking.
13.
The valley bike route.
Out in the air. The slick
Euro-bikes. Japanese bikes.
Old Indians. Harleys.
Touring. Riding the loop.
The leaves don’t fall
as they rush past,
but whole trees
have died over summer.
14.
The number of bones you find strewn round.
Sharp bones, like deadwood whittled
by hot winds.
And the red. It’s red and blue. So often.
When the grey comes or black nights,
the bones whisper. True.
And you can’t detect
their species, their voices
a blur.
But it’s the bones you might
dig up that worry you,
the bones.
15.
You’ve heard of chicken pox
parties? Well here, it’s said,
there are venereal disease
parties. Orgies to maximise
the spread. A pox on you,
and you and you. A great
equaliser is the caveat.
Who am I living out of this?
Stereotypes. The soulful?