Come with me.
Join me now
As I wander home through the streets towards my house.
A collection of streets and curcuits, crescents and cul de sacs
on the edge of a small city
on the rim of a large wide deep blue sea
at the tip of a large empty island
far away from Southern ills and fears and bigotry and narrowness.
Walk with me
Past houses, units, flats and townhouses
Parks, shops, the school
Breath in the warmth, the blackness
The sweet, almost sickly smell of the air
The perfume of frangipani, gardenia, bougainvillea, jasmine
Mangoes flowering in the branches, rotting on the ground
Stroll with me.
The night is down
The dark is gathering, rolling in thicker and thicker
settling down over the streets, the people at the end of their day.
The sun slips quickly from sight
leaving streaks of violent pink and blue
as bats fly in.
Black poo shitting bat
all over my path, my car, my pool, my left-out-overnight-washing.
Clouds slowly quietly roll in under the moon
Already huge and copper suspended in the inky sky.
Streetlights fizz into life
Hidden under palms, over grown branches that throw
lurid figures across the road
Frightening the young boy racing home on his bike
Late from karate training.
Late for dinner.
Too old to believe in ghosts and creeping figures in the night
Too young to be sure.
The howl of his neighbour’s dog makes him start,
quiver in his thonged feet
The squeal of his front gate makes him look back
Look into the night for the stranger, the mugger, the murderer
who may lurk there
hoping for one such as him
Mummy’s love, Mummy’s boy
To rip life, love; all that he is
from his family
from this world.
This is not a dark story of crimes against children,
of deeds against the innocent.
This is not about the Beast without
But the Beast within.
Come in search of dreams and fears
Pry inside houses, homes
Inside bedrooms, kitchens, bathrooms, lounge rooms
Inside heads, hearts, minds
Without need to pry hard, no need to be spies
Predators on the sins and desires, crimes and evils of
As they prowl their homes,
lie barely asleep in their beds
Their cries, moans, whispers will ease out of them
Find life and voice in the air on the streets outside
take wing under a turbulent sky, heavy with expectancy
sopping up the electricity, the tensions below
Waiting for release
in the early hours of the morrow
when all but a few of our players
– if not soundly or peacefully.
In bed they will murmur, moan, stretch a little, roll over, and wake
for a moment as the rains tumble down
crashing on the roofs, hissing slightly on the night-cooled-asphalt-roads, slipping in through open windows and louvres
Startling dogs and cats from their sleeping spots in gardens
Rousing fruit-filled bats from the trees, sending them back across the night skies, scaring possums, waking children
Cooling the world
Calming the street
Allowing a few hours of peace and still before the day begins.
But I am ahead of myself.
The morning lies hours away, will not occur for some time
Let’s to the night.
Magic night. (Darwin images courtesy Google Images)