Republic

The past won't know us now.
We're changing the locks
on motley desire.  We are
among strangers.  The villages
are wished away and the kingdom
of six o'clock closing.

Shall I invoke you as an ultimatum?
Threat or promise?  Secret republic
declared long ago.  Oracular republic
of shillings and pence.  Of bush week,
of whims assembled to towns, strung on tracks
till the tar melts in summer.  Republic of the burning
bush.   And the sand blows over us, crusts all our dreams.
Shark infested floater, sand ringed, bright in a fly blown
shielding the eyes sort of way.  Republic of oldest curses,
latest luck.  Of shopkeepers smug in wise saws,
free with advice but tight with their credit.
Postmasters weighing and measuring doom.
Profitless waste of quids to be made.
Survivor's republic. Lost causes.  Found comforts.
Of great good fortune talked itself down to dust.
Of greater regrets.   Republic of ought to be, smog,
grim defiance, of the empty gesture, the endless beach,
of the sun never setting, the clock runneth over,
jumping the queue and the waves break forever.
Republic of terrible skies higher than others.
Of the world's bluest ocean, of dragging
through court, all colours cancelled
by the office of jealousy, its new tax
on everyone's everyday spark.

Republic of the fair go, empty republic thought up
by pisspots and murdering bastards.  Of loud writing,
of scribbled bark smaller than hands.  Of the roaring deaf
taunted to fists in the pub of the serious business.
Terra nullius and the borrowed jukebox.
Republic of the old truths hidden.
Of never bothering to say you're sorry.

Republic of uncontrollable nights, thighs danced till dawn
without fear or favour or memory either.  Of the world's weary
paws come to rest here at last.  Of the happy-go-lucky sat up like
Jackie.  Jungle republic of crocodiles waiting, sharks in the shallows.
Stripped assets and staff sent home.  Republic of gullet,
of gulping it down. Of half-pissed regrets for same follies
repeated.  Republic of not knowing how it got home
or forgetting to go or wherever it came from.

Republic of strangers trying to please.
Of refugees sprayed on arrival, of burning the boats
and they still wash ashore.  Banana republic, uranium glow.
Anorexic, bulimic, mumbling excuses.  Beery republic
with its balls on the barbie.  Of the borrowed aphorism, of we
told you so.  Of having your own way.   Us and them in the convict
republic.  Of the past, of the few.  Of doing to others what they've
done to you.  Republic of redistribution.  Of the lost agenda.
Of stumbling in mood swings.  Monster republic and six heads
can't agree the wedge's thin edge and the floodgates of peril.
Of two Wongs and a horde of whites.

Of the class and of the gender.  Of the great forms fallen into
disuse.  Of magazine royals, involuntary intrigue.   Of service
disgruntled, of dreamy afflictions, of not yet, of not yet.
Till it's knighted itself for services rendered.   Republic
of garments sewn up in abjection.  Shoes heeled
there too, of nothing is mended.

Republic of Tories who take the horizon having
their effortless way with all labour.  Big baby republic
of lottery winners.  Sniffs its own flesh in the fire it's still
building.  Surly republic grudging the chore of choosing its stupor.
You beaut republic of having your cake, eating it too.
Boys' own packrape republic.  Of the weak
applause, of the wild jeering, the frenzied bid.

Of diggers, of dim regrets, lunch in the trenches, head in the sand,
hang dog mouth.  Chips on both shoulders, lording the penguins.
In love with its clichés of distance, of dullness.  Shiny republic
of suits and ties trading the future forever for dinner today.
Of the union gone blue in its shivery underwear.
Disintegrated communists who won the big battle.
Of flash ideas condemned to slow death,
sold overseas for want of cash, for another cask
of our own Chardonnay.

Inimitable republic of lost lines, hand-me-downs,
five fingered discounts from the horn of plenty.
Lakes of too little and lakes of too much.
Of lusts and grim appetites.  Mongrels from anywhere.
Their last legs, the shortfall.  Of the hand over fist and the fist
moist for fun.   Inevitable republic of the little lie down, of the needless
worry, of the needle exchange.  All vices at once, pissing itself
with good honest fear.  Ad-blackened lungs - asthmatic republic
forgetting to breathe.  Till its allies remind it.  What do
we care?  Toil and ease all at once.  Too many roos
in the top republic.  Having a word with itself.

Having it off.  Thumping away at the coital cot.
Sweaty summer republic of love's one mosquito
seeking us out.  Republic of the few intent at their tasks,
the many fixated with watches, tempering passion, regret.
Sad swellings, tumescence.   Alighting at Redfern.
Maddening republic of the limits of the physical.
Of the two year old's tantrum of 'no' to suggestions,
of 'no' to its dinner of medicine meat.   Republic
of me and of me and of me.  Blind eye to the neighbours
all in atrocity.  Blind eye to big bullies footing the bill.

Matey republic - all best intentions.
Men off moving cattle for their solemn reasons.
Sworn secrets.  Of their knowledge is a little thing
in the vastness of what will be.  Flat, grey republic neither for nor
against.  Republic of light falling for us, heaven's gifts, of the sun
running towards us or running away.   Of the shifting line through
the tree.  And the tree goes on living, half its limbs either side.
Republic of fenceposts, where no one owns the boundary
or the line of thought that runs between
greed's kingdoms which are our
common wealth.