In Melbourne in the late 80s, when I was 22, I left Bohemian Fitzroy and moved to a cute worker’s cottage in seaside Albert Park…
Behind The Eight Ball
You never met your paternal Grandfather, her husband and your Dad’s Father. All your Dad told about him was that he died while potting the eight-ball in a game of pool; it occurs to you that there’s an explanation (other than your misspent youth) for your prowess with a pool cue and your chronic sense…
It’s Not All Black and White
“There is a grief
Carried in my bones forever
So profound that I fear
If I meet it fully I will die.”
The Spirit of Palm Beach
I’ve been tempted to judge myself as desperate and needy, indulging Mills and Boonesque fantasies of a romance with the ghost of a troubled surfer-boy from Palm Beach.
As you rode that bike, you head hanging forward…shoulders to your ears..
Skinny jeaned knees splayed …
sun bleached, dirty curls swinging…
You body made you look like you were bracing yourself for impact…
I scan the water for his familiar body language. He is a big man who’s weight partially submerges his Malibu as he moves through the water. His paddling style is stiff… the legacy of a shoulder injury many years ago. His bald head pushes through the air like a guided missile. His stance on the…
“I am more awake than I have ever been… yet reeling from the dream.”