Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet,
performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal
about town, feminist, freewheeler, and
friend. One day, she is going to be an
ideas curator. Which basically
means, she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
Until then, you’ll have
to read between
the lines.
Sunnybank
Let’s not say
I’m auditioning
suburbs as lovers
I’m plenty sweet
on West End –
she knows me
and she likes me
I like her
and I know her
well enough for
taking her to bed.
The faded resin
of her scent
lingers
some sudorific afternoons
I lick my fingers
taste patchouli and
smell faint rebellion
the ethnic indeterminancy
of the wall hangings above her bed
the wide verandah webbed
with decaying prayer flags
but, oh, Sunnybank
I like you, yes I do.
I’ve got your number
and you’ve got mine
your house smells funny
but familiar after all
this tidal time
and if I die here?
Lay my body down
under sticky neon sheets
on a futon stuffed with lucky money
incense sticks in my eyes
carpet me in biko pudding
stuff chewy pads of cutchinta
under both my armpits
let the streets eat me.
I’ll be just another sour smell
coming from behind
that Asian grocery store
the one with the signs I really can’t read.
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Sunnybank is a sweetie for sure!
I love this one darlin’ xoxoxo lets do Sunnybank feasting soon!
I love this one darlin’ xoxo. Lets do Sunnybank feasting soon!
As regularly an excellent posting. how you write is awesome. thanks. hunting forward more great information
Sometimes I think you’re a spambot, but your awkward English is so endearing, I approve you comments anyway!