time immobilisations

time immobilisations

i pull up,

wait in a line

of traffickers,

heading for workplaces

in the city

some distance

in time and effort

from here.

the lights change

and we move

though no one notices

their accelerator

take another punch

at the fuel gauge 

and the subsequent 

vehicle range.

i pull away from myself

sometimes

shaped in so many 

different ways

since childhood − 

unaware

of the exact number of times

i’ve fuelled up. 

differently priced resemblances

people move on 

voyager’s memory 

travels alone

allegedly,

town to town

village to village

not as a hawker

nor of the door-to-door ministry

carries our burden,

lays it down

at each hamlet stopover

pushes it

Sisyphus style

up prominent local hills.

no one reads mythology −

not on this route

so no one knows why

it is done, 

especially by a stranger.

eventually time moves. on.

people forget.

memory forgets.

perhaps this is all we know,

not knowing how to remember

wealth has noticed

i have no concerns.

not genuine

nothing that associates

with a letter of complaint

or face-to-face

knock down doors

front and centre

in your face

this is what 

it has almost become,

confronting, medicated 

lived experience.

no one listens

to words that struggle

with suburban 

economics

recycling loneliness

battling an unworkable

household 

budgetary constraint

contending 

with silently rising 

cost-of-living expenses.

no one wants to heat

an oven, bake anything

more than, first world problems.

nor a poor man’s poetry

disturbances

it’s morning

early

i’ve walked

relaxed,

for the day to ask.

me.

i reply i do

what i must do

even when my best

is often

not what fits in

or meshes 

in a machine

a system

needing wheel spin

on a suburban back street

disturbing the middle

of the night.

unexplained.

equilibrium has not returned −

road scar still visible

don’t clothe me in

i drape  

my clothing

over

the chair

beside my bed

sleep naked

between sheets

beneath water

in the morning

showering in

those touches

for bare skin

to remember −

factory air does not get me through the day

my momentum shift

look @ me

post-colonial

apologist

welcoming

modern articulation

celebrating

cultural certainty

adopting diversity

omitting mention

of declining awareness

in social reform

designed by

progressive movements

announcing

a face value climate reset

using language

for business sensitivity

to reduce adversity.

look @ me

in retirement

home maker, pod coffee,

rehearsals for open mic reading

in a dishevelled dress code.

the past haunting me while tomorrow moves out