Dirty skirts bunch and glow – soaring out of streetlights & glide down Cringila Road. Those slow turns unfold, coiling to curl in the street, cresting gold. ‘Tonight’s Sambuca, with roast coffee, baklava and Mouleet!’ I run home from the bus, alone. The stacks boast & collect the day’s rust, balancing a corroded steelwork halo. Mouleet floats through six o’clock & I run past Cringila bowlo’ past rustling bin-bags and barking rottweilers taking flight over their rattling deadlocks. I step past a cousin, a real squealer, stop him & ask if he knows my name. Halos flare in height, whirlpooling down blaring brightly, blazing tarnished clouds into to syncopated dust: bursting back a pinwheel flame. It shrivels down into its copper-capped cigarette, & cinders in rust. He steps on its butt twists a foot & mouths our Maltese surname.
Adam Formosa is a third year creative writing student at the University of Wollongong. He was recently published in the Best Australian Poetry 2010.
© Adam Formosa
Overland 204−spring 2011, p. 119
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