Davey Dreamnation

i.
Leaves that flick at the years before me, maniacal, seething. The first of a now-suburban dead. With nobody watching him he softly buried grass. I chomp on weeds & in my sleep bears make me wear things that keep out the sound of American Creek. The wet candle is in the ground, all by its [...]

To chew on grass in the sunshine. To
lick at the yolks of eggs, or bright &
fern-dappled sunlight out in the yard.
The trees crack like whips & faraway
the southerly, the change comes. It’s
worst at night, beneath the porch, as
the spin dryer hums & the gums drop
leaves that flick at my ears before I

Betty Malvern with a bee. Here’s my
sisterly path, the secret way. Through
the woods, into the sunlight for a sec.
Token uniform a spot of brown by the
creek. Small whorls of dirt in the clear
water, like washing a coffee cup first
in a sink olf sudsy white, like a beach.
Clouded eyes now, smile erased by a

They don’t believe in fairies but I do.
You don’t believe in fairies, do you?
I have seen them, and you’re wrong.
I’ll bide my time, until they all come
back to visit. They like to hide inside
jacaranda trees. I hear their cries in
the purple flowers and the leaves. I
think about lots of things every day.
There’s fairies in American [...]

The creek’s steam mingles with our
gossip, picking apart other peoples’
reputations, as we do. The morning
stream calls. I ran out of the house,
missing the fern by millimetres. In
a way this flood is funny. It washes
so much of the year away. It’s as if
we were caught stealing or smoking
cigarettes, Joni, me and Star. Durry
bombs deep in the [...]

I can feel the nettle, stuck in my leg,
this remnant of Nebo’s glory, shoved
deep inside my thigh, and poisoned
too. I can just imagine the swelling
there, and the pain. Totally worth it.
An opportunity I’d never had before
In the field. The perfect ambush. No
Sound save for the odd raindrop. Op. 
The only one I missed. We drank
Victory sips [...]

The school yard’s dense with bodies
BUT I CAN’T HEAR A THING. No need to
shout, a corona’s hanging around her
head. The silence of summer. Here we
go, across the iron bridge and onto
the sports oval. Grass whistle. I’m
still asleep. Memory tastes of Vita
Brits. Something snaps in my ear as 
the fog on Mt Nebo clears. Pressure.
Younger morning. Raindrop [...]

You know it’s just that every day
this wave of International Roast it
just hits me, in the common room,
and I want to run. I see a pile of
papers that may never get marked,
handwritten notes, attendance rolls,
and I just want to bolt. I navigate
classrooms, listen to the bells but 
it’s as if I’m a starter’s gun. Take
your marks, [...]

By American Creek there’s a fig tree
with someone’s name written on its
trunk. I hesitate to say mine. Okay,
yes. In some fit of adolescent vanity
I carved the initials RM there one day,
after school. Never have gone back to
look at it. What would be the point?
Just a memory now, like the fig tree
that’s been chopped off at [...]

i.
By American Creek there’s a fig tree
that’s been chopped off at the waist.
Nothing but a brown stump remains.
it’s the reason for my suburb’s name.
& as for mine, you ask? Ralph will do.
Mr Malvern to their friends at school.
I watch them walk down O’Brien’s Rd.
Reflected in the Fairlane’s rear-view. 
ii.
Hit by a wave of International Roast
I navigate [...]