breath before the plunge
A yellow scarf,
a hat, to beat
a grey day
about its dull ears
and this drizzle
that has latched
on to the afternoon
not to be fobbed off.
I adjust my intentions
to a 15-minute walk,
and the hot chocolate I crave
procured much nearer
at The Terminus
where trams used to catch
their breath before the plunge
again back down Silverton Street
past Fox Hall,
a crayon-on-cardboard notice
in the window to inform
that today the flag
hoisted on the flag-pole
is the flag of Normandy, France,
in the right conditions
a rampant red lion
on sunflower-yellow
background,
but in today's soft,
cold rain, any rampaging
sadly lagging. Then something
that in all fourteen years
I've lived in the neighbourhood
I've failed to notice,
a mailbox in the shape
of a cargo ship
outside the marine surveyor's
office, the 'No Junk Mail'
on the side of it
begging the obvious
puns about junks, but
which I don't pursue.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
6 comments:
Great poem, Kay.
Having lived on Silverton street and in Elliot street I found it so easy to trace your steps. Hope you enjoyed the hot chocolate!
Your poems are often like tours of your area for me, where a sense of place meets my imagination. This one is personally unique, however, because I live in Silverton, Oregon, USA (where it has been a rainy spring so far)!
I love this one, Kay! Even though for, some reason, I remembered Silverton St as being in Mornington, which shows how far I have fallen from my Dunedin days...
Thanks Sue! Yes that area was where I wandered.
Lydia - I love the connections made!
Tim - Thanks. It happens like that - memory is a funny thing. You need to re-visit soon.
That's a sly way of "not pursuing" the pun about junks.
I'm enjoying the return of poems to your blog over the last few days.
CXatherine - Thanks. Yes it was a bit sneaky of me.
Post a Comment