Friday, August 27, 2010


I tried to write this poem about a year ago, and if you check on my blog you'll see it in its draft form. I've never written a poem in this way before - its very simplistic and much more language-oriented than image-oriented as most of my poetry is. And because of this shift in focus, its probably my most candid poem written yet. Its fairly obvious what its about - Hope you enjoy it.

For Mitch

When I pulled into your driveway
(having driven pastalready, much to your amusement)
you jumped down from the hood of your car and
showed me your new tattoo.
It was tribal, just like school was. It swirled
like your spirit loves to do, though
neither has been brought to fruition.

That night we hired The Strangers partly because
Liv Tyler was way hot and a good scare was in
order. Halfway through the movie you asked me
to get up to see if the door was locked because
who knows who might barge in
and you thought it would be funny to knock loudly
on the wall to make me think there was someone outside.

Oh but I got you back, didn’t I?
Never have I laughed so hard, as when I saw your
back arch like that of a cat as you whirled
around to confront who ever it was I made you think was there.
Payback’s a bitch I said.

The next day at the supermarket
we bought supplies for the weekend. You bought a couple
of Sang Choy Bow kits because it was your
specialty and I introduced you to the delicacies that are
the Donut King closing-time specials. I still laugh
at the fact that you rang your mum – who is nine hours
away from Newcastle – to ask her if spring onions
came in cans.

And then we got drunk. We do what we always do.
And then we talk about girls because we’re best friends.
And then we talk about the deep stuff because we’re best friends.
And then we confess our undying love for each other because we’re best friends.
I go to sleep wishing we could do this everyday.

In the morning I have a sore head
and you’ve got a soccer game. I watch you
play and lose while I meet and chat with your mates.
I chat with your dad and he’s a cool bloke – you’ve got his sense of humour mate.

Then all of a sudden we’re off to the shopping centre
for the billionth time in I-can’t-remember-what-suburb
because its cold and we need jumpers. The clerk confuses me with prices
and you just laugh at how confounded I am by maths,
just like you did when we sat next to each other in high school.

That night we go see The Hangover at the movies
and spend most of the time pissing ourselves because
it is just that funny. I saw us in that movie.
We could most definitely be the ones waking up in a
trashed hotel room with a random baby in the
cupboard and a tiger in the bathroom.
Man, it is so us.

It makes us think of the stupid shit we’ve done.
Like the time we trashed the post office in Coly and
wrote ‘Ben’s Mail’ on the postage slot. Remember when your dad
asked if we knew who
trashed the post office?
Now that was playing it cool even
though I’m sure he knew it was us anyway.

Sunday comes and I try and think of ways to get out of going home.
I don’t need to go to class, I can always miss a few.
I don’t need to go to work, I can always call in sick.
I don’t need to finish that assignment,
there’s till a few days before its due.
Sure, why don’t I stay Tuesday too?

But I go home Monday morning and it is hard.
As I get in my car, I’m unsure whether to hug you.
We’ve never hugged before and I don’t know if its something we do.
So I shake your hand instead and you seem okay with that.
I drive off and it’s just me again,
Driving alone back to Sydney to live as
a folded page.

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