They sit at a café by the main street
And when asked they’ll claim
That they’re simply waiting for the dawn
“The dawn of what” I always ask with confusion

“Of something old” they say in unison
In quiet contemplative silent assurance
And I can’t help but feel a little left out
A little slighted in the smallest of ways

What am I waiting for, I wonder softly
A rose garden or a tired weatherboard vessel
Where I can lie my tired feet and sigh
With that contented and relieved exhalation

I’ve visited exotic places, met exotic people
Wandered the edges of sanity in my mind
And suffered pangs of heartache and heartlessness
Yet always I come back here, to these same roads

Sometimes I hate them with impassioned grief
Regret fills me to the brim and overflows
And sometimes I am completed by the simplicity
Of sitting with a soul in my eye and a harp in my heart

“why do you sit and yet you never smile?”

The mere motions beggar me
I’ve bled dry my efforts
Ceased my exultations
Become one with my ghost

If I smile it will all be okay
At least for a moment, on this day
But would the birds change their tune
These drought-ridden flowers of a sudden bloom?

I sit and I never smile,
I give laughter barely a moments thought
And ponder the insignificance
Of all I’ve ever done…

Drenched in self piteous irritation
Monotony breathes through this machine
Cognition like a wet blanket drowns us
And thin our souls – waifs – minute figures on the sunset

You expect a wailing at a funeral like this
Clutching hands and tissues as abundant as cancer
To blow your nose in, to know your place with
Discarded on a favourable breeze and blowing to Tahiti

They’ll mop your deadpan imprint face from the floor
When the tsunami hits on that fateful day
And replace it with an afghan rug
Improving the living space exponentially

I’m waiting for something old
Confronted by something exciting and new
I hold my breath and wait for the wind to change
Hoping my face will remain in this grimace

And they played violins the other day
Soaring through the afternoon air
My wretched hands bloody and battered
Cultivating seedlings in the scorched earth

Force-fed impotent glares
Cadillac smiles and spittle flecked laughter
Pushing at the earth, peddling hope
Expecting something to happen

Something beautiful, inviolate and strange
Like a siren song from a leper
Or a melody ripped from a sandstorm
As if serenity lived on in our eyes

Or maybe, just maybe
Even in our smiles