Frankston Train
Armpit
to armpit, everyone sweats in a different
language
here. A woman's voice calls out the
name
of each station as we arrive, another
scratching
in the race of life, she says Mordialloc
as
if there can be less dialloc. Four urban
minimalists
play euchre, I cannot see if their
cards
are real or not. The echo girl sits under the
'no
feet on seats' sign, her foot on the seat, the
angle
showing the curve of her in-step better than
high
heels, she tells her mobile phone that she
was
named after a car number plate. The
powdered
aeroplane blonde with an imitation
pearl
necklace becomes a delta, people pushing
past
her on either side. A drunk shouts, “Of
course,
I'm smart. I went to school, didn't I?'
A
father, a mother scold their son as if they are
trying
to make him smile for the camera. The
lowrider
with an earring drops a water bottle at a
ninja
bitch's feet, there is an empty McDonalds
wrapper
under her seat and a browning apple
core.
The rainmaker with crickets in his ears
drums
the seat between his legs. The bonsai
brunette
sheds her black cardigan and flicks her
anklet
at the far border of my vision and I ask
myself
where her story ends and mine begins.
One
of my favourite Melbourne poets is Garth Madsen, and he lives out on
my train line – the Frankston line. He is very tender and astute
about the place where we both live. His 'Frankston For Beginners' is
a must-read, as far as I am concerned. I have no idea how you might
acquire a copy though. He had a big launch for the book, out at
Seaford, (with enough food, including a chocolate fountain, for an
invading army whose quartermaster had gone awol so the troops are
pretty hungry, about as hungry as hungry troops can get) and then
there was a reading at Red Wheelbarrow in Brunswick, and then as far
as I know that was the end of it. Anyhow anyhow, when Avril Bradley
decided to do an anthology of poems about Frankston, Garth was a
must. Those who know Garth truly appreciate him. We had a lovely
launch for the anthology in the remoter reaches of the McClelland
Sculpture Park in Langwarrin - well done Avril for pulling it all
together – and this poem was a stand out for me. And a shout out to
Michelle Leber whose stunning photo is on the cover of 'City Of
Stars”.
PS
Garth often blocks his poems so they are as neat as bricks an expert
bricklayer has laid – but no matter how I fiddle I can't make my
blog block – so please forgive my my hod, my grout, my towel.
thanks for posting I lived in Frankston for some years and know that line well
ReplyDeleteAndrée Greenwell
... and I can get my copy where? I think I will ring Red Wheelbarrow. Garth Madsen you are a breathtaker.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem--& with nice echoes to your Hub feature this week.:)
ReplyDeletegarth ur a shit cunt
ReplyDeletei was joking im thinking about u im in the bath and im hard
ReplyDeletehes actually a really good teacher mate stop hating
Deletethis helped me a lot
ReplyDelete