So that’s how the land lies?
You’ve no idea how I hurried in this heat
with not a leaf stirring in the poplars
and my throat as dry as a bone.
It’s closed; I shut it.
Yes, the window too. Don’t worry.
I’ve a good mind to put you out in the yard
so that he’ll find you there, next to the tin-can
with the jonquil, where you can see the shore
crowded with sponge-boats back from Barbary.
All hell’s let loose at Rebelos’s place
with sponge-divers
chucking their money around by the fistful.
I can hear you. Your voice is a bit hoarse
but I can hear you. And don’t turn to the wall
and curl yourself up that way.
You’ve never been scared of war or woman
in your life. What’s got into you now?
It’s nothing — you’ll see.
He never comes with a taxman’s satchel in his hand
or in a gendarme’s uniform.
In fact, they say he’s rather gently-spoken
so perhaps he’ll just sigh a bit and say
come on, Nicolas old chap,
come on, we’re running late and ought
to cross the border before nightfall.
No matter how often you take this road
you never get used to it.
You know, he’s got his problems too.
I can see you, I can see you —
don’t imagine I’d take my eyes off you now
you poor bugger!
And where’s that no-good son of yours?
You can bet he’ll be coming home now,
as soon as he gets the message,
to rip open the mattress.
Look, I’ll get the woman next door
to light the icon-lamp. I’ll be back,
never fear. I’ll go for a stroll on the beach
and I’ll be back.

*From “The Observatory”, Brisbane, University of Queensland Press, 1985.