The Wrong Address index
Reading Street, Wellington NZ 1973
There are corners in that dark hallway
Vaguely enticing. The old photographs,
Plastic flowers, the barquentine
In a glass case; women past their prime
Who giggle and vanish
Behind black, numbered doors.
I ignore the telephone, it summons them.
Jeanne's high squeaky voice answers, bleats.
Mary comes, decrepit,
Her dull foxy eyes swearing to heaven,
And with a cigarette trailing dangerously
On her lower lip, growls
Jim you old bastard !
Where the hell have you been ?
So Jimmy stumps in, wounded he says,
Fifty-five and five foot nothing in his only suit
That's as black as his boots
And Irish as the cut of his best mannered brogue.
Oiv bin t'hospital, says he,
Flapping the plaster cast of a wrist,
And his bulbous nose like a beacon; where else
Would a working man be ?
Here is Mrs Miller shaking fraily in the draught,
(How did you glow on this evening sixty years ago ...?)
Come in come in.
I wonder, she says, I was wondering,
You see I've been reading ...my minister says...
But perhaps you know ...that every religion,
Well there's truth in ...
I don't know,
© copyright Thorold May 1995 All Rights Reserved
published by The Plain & Fancy Language Company ACN 1116240S Sydney, Australia
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