Words by: Paddy McPhee Art by: Molly Burmeister
The rain falls like socks off the line
The concrete stained streets
where we meet and discuss who’s who and what’s what,
listening intently as the world passes by, and the trees overgrow.
If we could we’d spend our time,
drinking coffee while I stare at your face
and you stare at the ground
hiding in your laughter,
back when the nights were still warm.
Remember when clouds of smoke billowed out across the playground
from mums’ frying pan as the boys looked for sticks
adequate for hitting until they filled their bellies
with her take on fried rice, lacking in flavour but it smelled like home and
that’s why it’s your favourite.
You can feel her love on your face, and recognise it
Finding different forms
walking off the train station
or sitting at that little
Vietnamese place on Brunswick Street,
where the rice is better.
You lie on the sidewalk and watch the lovers walk hand-in-hand
Or a son help his dad across the road,
tugging at his leg,
and you know
We don’t talk as much as we used
to but I hope you’re doing just fine,
still sharing the large serve of pho with whoever squeezes your hand tightest.
I can see your grin stretching wide, the broth spilling out the sides.
It lifts my chest a little.
Maybe you’ll call me when you need
an extra set of hands
to help pick up your head when its down
or to move your couch,
Grab a coffee and split a cigarette sometime,
until that day comes by
I’ll do my best to check the weather
for oncoming storms, and leave my door unlocked
So you’ll have a place to sleep,
Whenever you need.