Please recycle

Credit: Abrie Fourie

Ever stared 

Through a window 

While it rains?

There’s always a plastic bag

Maybe it’s white, maybe it’s black

But it’s always battered

Ripped in places

Being tossed around 

By a wind so indifferent

It seems angry.

It doesn’t seem to care

That the bag was once useful

A thing of value

Maybe a quid, maybe less

…Something, at least

Something that made someone

Want to take care of it

Because that bag held

Tools or

Books or

Food or

Something invaluable

Like a man holds dreams

Like my mother held me

Until that bag stopped

Being useful

And it needed to be ditched

Maybe someone even tried

To recycle it

But their aim was bad

So the bag landed 

In the wrong bin

And it ended up 

In landfill

That’s when the wind

Caught hold of it

Like fate grabs hold of a man

Like love grabbed hold of me

Now it’s helpless

Doesn’t know where it’s going 

Or how

Or why

It just is

Gulls peck at it

Debris pokes at it

Little by little 

It loses bits of itself

For no good reason

Stretched till its torn

In all the wrong places

Like a man trying to hold it together

Like this fool, holding on to childish dreams

Is this why bags are made? 

To end up 

Molested by the wind

And battered by the rain

Being watched 

By a strange man

Projecting his sadness?

Sometimes, I wonder if

The bag is staring back 

Writing these words about me.

Sydney

A reddish land

A dumping ground

A melting pot of complex flavours

It tastes

Like a gulp 

Of the salty South Pacific 

With all its ingredients 

From far-flung continents

Cooked by a supercharged sun

In an ocean-deep cauldron

It smells

Like a briny spray 

From saline splashes

As land and sea gently play

Along the coast where 

Children chase retreating waves

And fleeting fancies

It looks

Like Eden

After a cyborg invasion

Like a man of science

Shacked up with a woman of arts

Like a glassy skyscraper 

Overcome with overgrown vines  

It feels 

Like a warm breeze that caresses

Where light cannot go

Where time cannot flow

Where your heart stops

The first time your lover 

Gifts you a smile

It sounds 

Like a crescendoing cacophony 

Of hissing creatures 

Of fizzing beaches

Of whirring machines

Creaking under the tension

Of an artificial union

Like the call of an estranged Mother

Nature echoing through 

A reddish land