THE SECRET-DRINKER

he lies awake
in his single room in the hostel
neither smoking nor reading

listening to the shunt
and interval
of taps and drains

and what these tell him about
the other inhabitants
of this nineteenth century structure
refurbished for travelers

a door scraping over
slightly raised carpet pile
where a cat has scuffed

the loud intended silence
of a door pushed to
behind a late night visitor

his mind enflamed
by these
he listens for breath

listens for blood thrust through
the passages alcoves stairways
of the heart

DOMESTICS

women on the river
often came from foreign countries
and the way they spoke
led to misunderstandings
alone in large houses at weekends
airing beds and retrieving laundry
some took up with unsuitable tattooed men
down from the bush

late at night their white limbs
glowed in firelight
but morning silences
denied trespass

in wartime
a rushed kiss on a bristled chin
bitter with cartridge powder
said enough

at worst they could end on farms
waist deep in children
waiting for bare trees
outlined against the sky to bud

---

Return to CONTENTS