A short poem about COVID, porridge and a Fiona Apple song.
she would go about her way, tending to everyone while Billy and his bandmates they would jam and stray but always they’d come home to stay
The keyboard sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti (1685–1757), and a poem I wrote about them, have a close connection to my favourite rental place, an historic mansion in Newtown, Geelong.
You see Clarence wore an old “Lou” reed like a bamboo cravat and a fine felt suit of ebony the colour of half the keys on a honkytonk piano named Hank
I peer into the rear-view mirror/ at my sister’s baby face/The tears brimming
Flashback to the sixties, people living in the cities you got beatniks crossed with hippies sporting horizontal stripes and small goatees play a jazzy, minor chord, learn to smoke, renounce the lord
day one and two Zep II, day three and four Zep IV, four sticks/ the ciggie slim-jims keeping company with Bonham fills of tom-tom
And though not the worst/ part of our on-again off-again ways,/ the latest loss of you stings me anew
headlights splay across a country roadway/ single lane both ways in groovy groovin’ grooves/ to the smooth, smooth sound of billie holiday
and the singer goes yeah babe yeah yeah yeah/ then electric guitar wangs wah wah funk