A COLD DRINK AT THE NEW PLAKA
Ten years later at La Trobe University
“Nos plaisirs les plus doux ne vont point sans tristesse.”
Pierre Corneille, Horace, V. i.
the hot day grips me tight in sweat
as I creep into the most current cafeteria
ghosts from the past drift in with me
flowing old friends whose eyes spoke brightly of life
cet eclair dans nos yeux que nous nommons la vie
(Lamartine radiated laments as he gazed at lakes and graves)
I touch old whispers as I clutch my glass of cold pretexts
and sip slow memories amid the tellurian bustle
of bodies I don’t know
cappuccino and cake yells a publicity-conscious window
loudly to the diminished day outside
in the Agora the four bodybuilder plane trees
are still trying to stand guard against the gatecrasher years
ripples of history begin to lap at me
I can hear the smooth scattered.tootling of Athenian flutes
as the Long Walls are pulled down
***
THE ABANDONED BEACH
soft despondency of the sea waves
the abandoned beach seems a Sahara to me
grey flight to the horizon of bitter clouds
the dazed ship knows where it will reach land
let the night ring let the hour come
I’m going the days remain
very far from here lies the panting sun
a bandaged silence fills my ears
a single seagull lectures the survivors
and Apollinaire smiles in his sleep
let the night ring let the hour come
I’m going the days remain
