Today I walked
through the streets of Melbourne –
dream-soaked, soft-spoken, inattentive.
Caro walked on my left, while you,
strolled invisibly visible on my right.
The Plane trees made whimsical attempts at promenade shade,
webbed platypi paws stroked billabong skies
I glimpsed you up there, Puckishly perched
amongst the sturdy, thigh-wide-sky branches. You poked out your tongue.
Dried seed head clusters
bobbed kernel-nodding agreement – yes, spring’s the season
for cavorting in trees, well before
birds brood and Swanston Street breeds obligatory blue fairy light festoons.
You made me giggle (you always do) pulling a naughty face
as we climbed the steep, knee-cracking stairs
to lunch at Gopel’s
where lavender walls swirled with lotus motifs
and a nose-ringed, saried waif serving curry as dinky di as a Shirl or Kylie
had evolved a Mumbai accent to support Kristna beliefs.
Today I walked the streets of Melbourne:
Drizzle-dampened, body aching, whoozy from lack of sleep.
I was so happy.