Visiting Sydney


My heart remembers
the train trips in Sydney
the suburban express
stopping between stations
to keep in time with
the slow train that left first.

My heart is turgid
the boredom
the heat
the cigarette smoke
clinging to my clothes
as I travel to and from
in the city.

My heart is sad
the youth years of the 60s
wasted on dreams and hopes
never realised
roads never travelled
and others blocked
from the reticence
of ignorance

My heart is melancholic
the backyards
of houses clinging together
painted with the debris
of swishing trains
not caring.

Ah Sydney!
a capital in which
to be born and nurtured
mouldered into a shape
on the cusp of society
in a family moving to
their own tenet.

My heart remembers
to tell my head
never return to this big city
leave it behind and forget
but it never remembers.