Paul Williamson: Two Poems

Near the Edge

Above the road is a rusted sheet iron stable

with a horse outside; an image from past scattered farms

near where iron-stained clay banks stretched Sydney’s water supply

piped from a century ago. Father worked a stint there.

On the downhill side market stalls crowd

the double drive-in theatre normally vacant in daylight.

Antiques are sold, trash and treasure, pets

and greasy food, within surfing music from an ageing band.

Polite people slowly trawl technicolour alleys.

Spanish speaking South Americans offer jewellery;

a too-thin man sells cassettes;

families of heavy islanders scan for bargains;

slender African youths flaunt jaunty masking walks

while an old man and woman show horror-hinting faces;

Muslim fathers herd sons, all in white robes

while up the road the English theme pub draws another crowd.

Assyrian Flavours

A flute and six drummers dance the groom

into the brimming reception;

musicians bright in white gowns

head ties, festive dark beards.

His mother’s people are Assyrian Australian

here to celebrate in numbers.

His father’s blood is Anglo Irish

a steady family, present in force.

After speeches women circle dance

twirling dancing veils held at each end

joyful arms above their heads

as the music pounds towards frenzy.

The bride’s father walked her down the aisle

at the seaside church in Wollongong

looking like he would rather keep than give.

Later a prayer nodded darkly for distant dying relatives.

Paul Williamson