Italian music
sweeps along, as a
small boy plays.
Another sits,
staring -
empty spaces,
preoccupied, on a
Quiet tree-lined street.
A no through road.
Hidden,
office blocks, towers
and landmarks,
a towering city scape
one side;
while the seedy, grime-ridden
debauchery of King's Cross
looms above.
A no through road.
Screeches of cockatoos
echoing at intervals
in their Jurassic manner.
Occasional train
flickers past.
Track at one end,
sports court the other.
Cross road in the middle.
A no through road.
The Fitzroy stands there.
Easy flow of beer and
folk ballads emanating
from within -
beleaguered but
charming façade.
Barman was the fastest swimmer in Australia,
once.
A no through road.
A small child bids his mother
adieu, as she leaves in her car.
Leaning precariously from an open
window, he blows her love-filled kisses.
A most beautiful goodbye.
Sporadically he returns
greeting all those that pass by -
happy young lad.
A no through road.
My prejudice,
a yearning for
the quiet bustle and
dishevelled nature
of human edginess,
temporarily placated.
I could remain forever
fermenting in my intoxication.
Dowling Street – A no through road.
