Treading Southbank,
head heavy with copper,
I see nine Muses
exude from a saxophone’s
turbulent mouth,
each to recline on notes
across the Yarra
then syphon home
again
~
An old man dusky
with all hues of homeless
dips his sallow pate
opens a long-toothed grin
at a child
unseen
but whose shadow
I foretaste in another’s.
~
At my left shoulder,
Rialto,
whippet-angled and cloaked,
outdone
by a gold-smirked successor
across the river.
He concedes defeat
to a soundtrack swirling
in corners,
tunnels.
~
Thermals buoy and buffet
the Muses to me
as I bisect the glare of gods.
I do deals in copper
with the well-dressed wraiths
delightfully condemned
to haunt the shores between
scores of hooded Chairons
and the flux that binds the city.
sandraellen
the melbourne town references got me in first, this is great—-sandra