It’s all about me.

You sat with me once,
remember?
The child’s name I forget,
but you smelled of roses.
Your eyes seemed wary;
all else about you sang
with that bohemian delight
I’d longed for
                    (since that night on Era beach
                    I’d felt the heat beneath
                    her cold, wet clothes –
                    well, I was just seventeen).

The teacher with the schoolboy crush.

You’d visit me later, with daily traumas
too big for me, certainly
too big for any child.
Once, we met in passing;
your first words were a blow,
then you pounded me again.
The boy’s life exploded in my heart
and still you hit me
hit me,
unaware.

Twice more.

Your house.
The quiet leafy road was mine;
the couch, the rugs, the cushions – mine.
The bookshelf…
it mirrored mine so closely that
a word,
which only once before had pierced my heart,
cried out.
But it was your yard that brought me down.
The girls were chattering
“How lovely how lovely”;
but I saw you walking there.

Once more.

Your office.
Strange how you’re so much taller in your chair.
Your eyes… do they anticipate?
If so, you’re cruel,
for you give me your good news
as if you think I’ll share your joy.
                    You should know better. I’m a boy.

And so, farewell,
as they say.
Of course, I’m happy for you,
though a little scared –
who’ll worry about you as much as we do?
And selfish –
who’ll be my fair bohemian now?
And sad
because, like all mountain spirits
you’ll vanish among the eucalypts,
while I continue on this track
we briefly shared.
                     I’ll glance back…