dad – Love is lost

September is the uncruellest month

Waiting for Melbourne sunshine

While succumbing to a desire for a beautiful feminine face

smarts and the other thing

Those eyes

And meanwhile he’s dead

His eyes too

And I was wondering on the bus

Wishing I could tell him what I’ve had to fight through

So Dad could be proud of me

And I put my head on the window

Annoying people tell me to quit my cushy job

Where I get to be kind to kids

Tell those people to drive a van around for 15 hours

And get back to me

I could use a mission

Though I decided life is not one

People are here; people die

And if we make it through the day without going to pieces:

Mission accomplished.

But if I wrote and moved someone,

Or spoke to them in multifarious tongues

In the tongues of men or of angels

Bahasa, Arabic, Mandarin

And bring a smile, and help their life…

صباح النور، تشرفنا

Insincere people

You need help, and where the fuck?

Welcome to the human race… frère

Lend me a hand? **Quizzical look**

I’m 43, 30 years left, according to my Dad (73)

Love is lost, I named a blog

And then it happened for real

Suddenly empty freedom

Libres pero solos – they had a different upbringing

And I couldn’t last the pace

Of a street where no one looked at anyone, no one spoke to anyone

Environmental economics had taken a toll (Cochabamba)

And a people with their heart in their mouths

Also found it hard to hold on to it

Environmental economics

“They’re nice because they’re rich,” they said on Parasite

“If I had all this money, I’d be nice too.”

So if I help someone,

is it all just environmental economics?

There but for the thankless sweat of my parents, go I?

Batshit on the streets of Collingwood

Talking about the gypsies leaving Rajastan 5,000 years ago

To thin air

Thanks Mum, thanks Dad

For copping those abusive kids

So that I can buy unlimited lattes

And cruise through my nondescript middle age