Elisabeth Wentworth: Flight of the Minstrels

Flight of the Minstrels

Dromana, January 2015

The old house could only achieve more view

If it learned to swivel on its beach-shack pins.

Full North, with East and West to spare—Amalfi?

Surpassed. We have lorikeets, wagtails, silky oak.

The cranky deck bounces high on its props

Due for a rebuild it holds us for now

But the flaky timbers are rotting fast,

It might decide to up stumps any second

Taking us with it into the Bay. We don’t care.

We are midnight minstrels on a cliff top stage

Keeping the beat as the lightning dances

En pointe across the sky. No need for amps

To make ourselves heard, we have strings galore.

We are acoustic warriors, upstart amateurs

Singing out into the peninsula night, strumming

To keep company with the midsummer storm.

If the deck goes, there’ll be a scramble to save

The instruments—“Guitars and mandolins first!”

My unassuming banjo would be left behind

In the rush, I guess. I’ll just have to frail my way

Out into Port Phillip—that airy, constant, bell-ringing

Fifth string holding me aloft to the last.

Elisabeth Wentworth