357970244_159894d59f_z
Type
Poetry

Sweet

Just now, feeling a glitch coming on, I took a few envelopmental leaps in thinking. The fits will soon subside, higher powers have assured me. The day will come when a tingling sensation starts up, then a grumbling that spreads through the nether regions. Or a faint flutter, a whir, a thrum. Something will come for you. On that day and forever, the unwrapped present will evaporate what remains, to serve as a reminder to you. Until then, Wee Willie Winkie rules …

… that every terminal association one might have dreamed of one day joining has been forwarded the relevant information and endorses one’s investiture by capturing one’s imagination.

Arriving as part of a chain gang rapping at the window, crying through the lock at one of Sydney’s popular ‘clothing-optional’ beaches, I am met at the edge of a precipice by an exposed manhood swaying the conversation toward invasion in broad daylight. Now this might not come as a surprise to you, dear reader. You might already have assumed that I am ‘lucky’ – maybe you’ve seen me in the tabloid rags and society pages on the arm of a popular and good-looking star of the cinematic world. But stop for a moment and consider. Had you yourself, through living your purpose, managed, like I, to procure a highly sought-after interneeship at a respected publication, where the images are properly selected and nicely distinguished, and been sent on such an assignment, would you, too, not have developed feelings toward the brute, taken a swing at the prevaricating monster?

Upstairs and downstairs in his underdaks indeed. Until a hum comes over the computer.

 

Image: Tau Muon / flickr

 

Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places.

If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate.

Chris Edwards is a Sydney-based poet whose publications include People of Earth and After Naptime, both from Vagabond Press.

More by