Paul Hardacre
Of Course
New Poems From Australia
 
 

mirza    ghalib  street:   three  floors   up    hotel
green land our  room  is one  bed one chair one
window  upright   toilet  &   shower  does   not
work  there  is no   water  here we  eat   lemon
shortbread  biscuits  &   camel  brand  cracker
peanuts  to   pass   time   muslims    bark   into
megaphones    in   the  street  below  traffic   is
forbidden until dawn when  low-caste men  stir
from wooden barrows rub  their eyes chew on
neem  branches  near   the  pharmacist  bitches
lap  blood  from   a basket   of  ragged   heads
metallic   air  clings  to    my     skin    reflection
distorted  head  elongated  wrapped  in    white
cotton  shelf  of  the  august    spirits   my   wife
dismantled  fireman  red  her  skin  this morning
a crude & frail porcelain.