TWO POEMS by David Prater


MAZ

have you heard what they've been saying

about old drug dealers & ex-girlfriends

how it's hard to be quite sure who you'd

rather not run into believe me there's a

choice i'd rather not make at any time

let alone now you're probably a lawyer

that degree having been financed by a

mountain of small deals secreted inside

bread rolls & take-away spaghetti under

kitchen counters due to the cops or were

they also buying once i arrived at the flat

to find some guy there your dealer maybe

although you were sweating it was winter

i guess we each have our own method of

payment but i was jealous of the intimacy

who was i to judge your judgements you

were always there for me never failed to

deliver in a way i was in love with your

cool mobile lifestyle i hadn't seen any of

the movies you told me about we would

meet in the strangest places bars parks

the aforementioned kitchen then you

cut off your grey hair & went bleached

i knew it was a sign of our impending

separation now i do not fear for you &

often wonder whether we will meet in

william street's neon shadows kenneth

slessor never did quite understand the

reasons for our running into strangers

averting eyes like johns with no desire

you remain the anti-flaneur the bright

hope of entire generations still hooked



THREE GENERATIONS

hiding hopes in atlas pines a winter

tale for the dreamer signs away his

last vestige of sleaze to find himself

alone in the veritable canyon of lies

i gathered walnuts waited there for

you to come out & show me the lay

of the frontier land we'd conquered

together little boys did i know then

even now the swollen stream sings

the snow we melted with kisses on

rocks guzzling hot chocolate winds

hobbling towards the stars comfort

collided in two twinkling fireflies

from a psychedelic burn-back drift

across your radar lips attaching to

armour wings defence the blizzard

calls us inside that cave i slowly

defrost grow easy & lethargic safe

meanwhile daughters nurse their

own mothers to death one by one

singed with horses hair pleats sun

flowers a tablecloth to greet her &

free smiles decency sirens tied to

the back of a donkey just spindles

drift a woman & her mother fallen

hard rocks insufficient food remain

standing after sunset burn what is

left of the sticks & leave the coals

to scatter themselves winds arrive
like bird omens black in the glade


David Prater lives in Melbourne, Australia. He edits Cordite Poetry Review . These poems are from a work in progress entitled LoveShipDemos