Out and About

Hand in hand my daughter & I move around
the sleepy Australian roar of her first rally.
She's quiet, busy eyes/ that
student over there on all fours
shirtless gold like
a day warming up.

The polite men in marshall vests move as
fingers brushing through this hairy head.
A pulse of drums, the breath comes in
as the crowd shifts &
the ligaments of banners join muscle to bone....

We are a lumpy, lazy
beast in the streets.

Green left, resistance
akubra & nike
joined for the first time
by a daughter teasing out the
way of waves & wars -
the teeth of ideas for good or otherwise.

Speeches go on
like the wrinkle of fast flowing water -
words an accompaniment to
sunshine & city park fountain.

Then like galahs the flock rises to the beat
Racism OUT.
Cars fly past with waving or complaints.
The lovers in front are whispering -
her voice rises above the crowd
for 4 words
& when I'm naked....
Ears are busy as
they always are
but we are all naked here functionally
-subsumed to the idea -
a mix of mechanical & thrill
that naked always is.

Then like a goose I'm crying,
grateful for the shades.

& Melina, 12 years old & just
out of reach of everything -
but she's standing
venerable & vital
as any grey haranguer on that stage.

It's the best truths,
those rendered down.
A rainbow demolition
of a bad something
& the children win an early Spring.

Les Wicks