Saxby Pridmore: Four Poems

Hog

You cock your wrist and blast the CBD with noise.

Startled knees snap back and walkers make mini-Maasai

jumps into the air, land, utter and go on.

Your Harley has an extra fat black back tyre

while Kawasaki riders have parked their bees

in honey-comb rows for buzzing off at six past five.

The motorbike replaced the quiet Western Front

dispatches horse. For life they kept the din down. Now

when the Postie comes and goes you need to listen out.

You cock your wrist and blast the CBD with noise.

But your sign language isn’t going to work. Don’t

be shy, if you want to say how lost you are: use words.

It Got Lost

What happened to the gold watch?

What happened to working in one place all your life?

Sometimes such things get lost.

What happened to all those blokes you worked with?

What happened to working in one place all your life?

Sometimes you only see things looking back.

What happened to those blokes you worked with?

And playing…