it’s wednesday night I’m walking down King Street
past the Dendy		       outside a man sitting
with a typewriter
with a milk crate
with his hands clasped
with a sign out front: 		       ‘POEM 4 U’

it rains and I skirt people like puddles
head bent + heading			      /somewhere


now near the fork; outside Cream –
another man – tall, skinny, dark hair, dark shirt,
twilight, fervent – fat stack of papers in arms	  tries:
‘hey! free poem! free poem!’
me + two others shake heads	       downcast
	just keep on descent into new night


keep down Enmore now
	          as the city peels itself back like bark
	          like posters from poles
	          like poems from books
				      		      destined for this rubbish bin
								          (or the next)

Image: Former Enmore Post Office / flickr