Took a long lunch today, to duck over the river to the Brisbane writers festival, on waiting for the train at South Brisbnae station I scrawled some random thoughts down into my little book.
I met you for a poetry reading
Les Murray, older, fatter and not much balder
than the photograph backing his books
mirror image above us
walled in by hundreds of tea cups
quietly sitting in saucers
every now and then a noisy bike or truck
whines or grumbles behind us
I kissed you as you left to catch the ‘fairy’ back to work
leaving with a glaze of blushed berry on your lips.