Alan Gould: Two Poems

Cutting Perspex

His soldier mouth suggests a man at peace.

What fox moves in his eye and will not rest?

He wears across one arm a bright pelisse,

watches some further scene with interest.

Of those nearby, he is their centrepiece,

and tasks get done so he should be impressed.

His small instructions scarcely incommode,

his cannon sway like hay-wains down the road.

That soldier eye shows he can be amused

if horseplay has some favourite come off worst.

His spyglass gleams from where it’s been much-used

scanning terrain that’s still to be traversed.

This now shows skyline looking vaguely bruised

and topiary where small explosions burst.

Do the civilians glower or exult?

His watchfulness is tuned to fine result.

I measure and I cut some perspex fine

to wall around his pose this see-through box.

My lethal saw-blade, creeping down a line,

requires the steady eye of man or fox

to guide where fact and wishes might align

to make an ornament from paradox

around his poise, so vital and so still,

where sunlight glitters on my windowsill.

Muckraking: A Tradition

(Governor Bligh’s Arrest, Australia Day, 1808)

Puritans, bro, note how their eyes can’t blink.

They’ve done the sums on your unworthiness.

They own a cat will cause your manhood sink

to ask if man is ever more than less.

You see our case? Not watertight, although

an easy conscience is your birthright, bro.

Don’t look surprised this bloke’s now brought to bother,

who roars upon our souls Satanic weather.

Look! Parramatta to the water’s high

on righteous spirits. Diaries have been read.

Here’s fact. We found your Master William Bligh

was wig-and-tit concealed beneath his bed.

It is my detail, bro, sorts fact from blether.

Why would I make this up, and not some other?

Alan Gould