Reading at Alba

one stood

in the back corner

of the cafe

the audience

stretched away

the length of the bar

to the windows

and beyond the street

gave glimpses of

proverbial women

and men

passing to and fro

one’s words would go

out over the heads

of this audience

and one caught oneself thinking

hmmm

this poem seems to be

going across quite

well tonight

and

at that moment

always

there came

the rubbish truck

with its cataclysmic

hydraulic  arm

lifting up

the public bins

one by one by one

and so that poem

(the one that was going okay)

would stop

and poet and audience

would wait

until the rubbish truck

was gone

and then go back

to the beginning

start again

 

 

Murray Edmond

 

Lorne Street days!

xmurray

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