I: Car Ride
For Judith “JR” Rodriguez

Once more silver envelope lands safely and a cardboard
Sign, and a smile awaits me in terminal 7, forgotten was
conference papers in seat pocket reminder on the intercom
First glimpses of Melbourne from passenger seat on Astra
Judith drives and jive talks stern poet lady giving a middle
Finger stare, to a honking hobo in red Honda, in the midst
Of her commentary on city and its history in one short ride
Relief ride is over, for Judith can, any day drive taxi in Fiji

II: Melbourne Trades Hall

The building of workers stands across a monument to labour
Of long dead eight-hour week an imposing stone hall stands
Alone holds aloft banners slogans flags and book shop café
Guevara still holds court on expensive black and red t-shirts
First meeting with faces soon to become familiar as red tea
Hot I hold my breath for a promised first beer from berni
Balmy Sunday noon drags feet like overgrown schoolgirl
Finally ale, one sign Australia lives despite Howards Way

III: Performing Dhal

Many friends, probably enemies and tall barmaid with cast later
Performer in me spills out to berni, gracious on to a full middy,
Gives up part of space for me to fill in to blithe spirit of music
Fusion of drums, strings and horns that blow in from Footscray
Three readers find courage at bottom of beer bottles and swot
Three really old schoolboys hunch over poems in dark rehearse
Like musicians at posh Royal Albert and help fill in a few gaps
Faithful few remain, hoot and howl, in paper bags for troubadours

IV: International House: Flashback to Morning

Nothing like a hangover or one night-stand to put on shudder
At face in mirror in morning re-membering order of things
When in doubt laugh but first find something to laugh about
Oh! The frantic house tutor unable to check us in that morning
Breakthrough for coal stubble cheek of subcontinent boy
By countrywomen in laundry who looks lovingly at his frantic
Eyes, and gently works out the labyrinth of buildings for all
He apologises, her closed eyes above forgiving smile for him

V: Samosa’s and Escapees

Roadside Lygon café a near midnight order of samosa and beer
With new found escapees from a regime of conference paper
Talk turns like tables on a sidewalk seeking new footing here
Amidst talk of robust hops and greasy cones of generic potato
Vijay Singh dragged into conversation over the older guard
The dregs of coffee under old cigar stained tables a mountain
In the making easy chatter grows into a pavement fault line
A final drag of feet as many hands point out International House

VI: Sydney Myers Center: Finding

City of squared streets meant to be easy picking directions
It is circles that I have trouble with or just random chaos
Of most cities that I come from, they are towns really, ok
One street towns, but simplicity has a way of turning ugly
Walks in straight lines are interrupted by hands of habit
No alleyways to duck into instead stone buildings confuse
In imitative university grids, finally I found X to mark spot
The red and black crane on construction site across the road.

VII: Planning a Shopping Expedition: Victoria Markets

There was no plan as such just the walkabout of hungry feet
Seduction of peaches and pears amidst a stand of red chili
The Singapore poet walks easy in the familiar waters of fish
A porterhouse steak leaps into brown paper bag with sexy
Lithe asparagus waving from plastic no glove no love sassy
Coriander tells gal pal Baby spinach, titters with mushrooms
As the world closes on them on the walk to the tram line
And they are all crushed in packed cars on the way home.

VIII: An Apartment with No Beer
For Shalini Akhil

No such worries mate! Just needed bit of pity for a moment
For food and ale was needed for journeys with friend to flow
Grasp and shape more than a passing reference to flickering
Television as in the end the beggar knows as well as the star
That it is food or lack of it that keeps them anorexic, this was
An epiphany, the wrong end of an academic elephant, we said
See what the fear of no beer can do to grown beings, after all
It was 3 a.m and six pack lies cold supine waiting four hands

IX: Raid on the Tram

Fuck…they came on the plane like some wannabe cowboy
Cum pulp detective in tan jackets flashing gold star wallets
Man…they stood spaced teetering gunslingers on Vic tram
Slits eyes and all, like they meant business, checked on me
Twice in one breath, all over the shop like border security
On steroids, fucking oath, mate, bloody impresso bastards
Next minute gone, like ghost who walks, and all disappear
Fuck next thing all this shit means I am halfway to Bendigo

X: Turning Japanese at Confederation Square
For “Kamikaze” Kozue

All shiny with free Pepsi max in hand walked three tourists
Made all peace sign held up the world in fingers relaxed
Little schoolboys take double take with frantic posed chatter
Dirty river below no reason not to scramble like idiots pose
Freeze, frame, pose, even the real tourists are getting scared
Circles with Y intact we walk mall to order generic Japanese
In Taiwanese run place all wood and little bows with smiles
Whatever, first fix of rice for the day, a mountain goat later

XI: Jimmy Watsons

Come from an island seducing tourists, flowers find their way
Behind ears, walk in a bar wearing it, hands find your shoulder
A simple mix of vermouth and ginger beer we take over garden
Tor-mentors of talk and the written word a final sharing takes
Place among the warmth of rough stone floor and laughter
Passing of chits of paper records of lives, places countries
Posing for digital snips of life in narrow backyard monument
To relative simplicity of being a student getting drunk slowly

XII: The Talking Wall of Books
For Dario

Old stone instant recall of a penal past or bricks of history
Only in wall of books ends are beginning of story-telling
Tiled hard covers of popular binding choices red or blue
Gold lettering hard pressed end to end with a lovers’ hand
Eye to eye the apartness of the artist walks the cold floor
In each hinge surprised springing of ritual of a walkabout
A river runs behind the forge like a forgotten child’s story
Awaiting like book wall an audience to all its narratives

 

XIII: bernis Rainbow over Melbourne

Along the way berni can and does call upon a rainbow on cue
Painted on glass over a Melbourne skyline of metal hued rain
A final hurrah for quick meeting of fleet word thieves coming
To end in community art house on wet floor of dance and music
When the dispersal takes place it will be sudden like a holocaust
The final drives are welcome and farewell, but wait a final spree
In a 7 Eleven a welcome Boag chills beside a green capsicum
Checkout girl with Sahara eyes ponders over 25gms of Chili.

XIV:  A Silent Departure

Awaiting departure in early mornings is like sitting with Yama
The Duth of a Grim Reaper in the Aryan pantheon only this time
It is sitting with poets a chip designer and watching a Japanese
Movie late on SBS, on cue as if in bowed acknowledgement
The screen fills in the absurd cinema of Asia breaking dances
Into lyrical monologues like an advertisement for sudsy soap
In the morning is panic as no cab call was made, but Melbourne
Is full of taxi-drivers free prowling curbs just as in Suva.