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.
The waitress looks like Suzie Porter
But I can’t look at her
See her brash, rosebud pre-bloom grin
Freckles glazing an arm like summer
Appreciate a beautiful woman
As you might notice sunset sunrise
Or the sound of a television in another room
I can only see the man on the tram
Beside me, surreptitiously capturing
The pretty woman beside him
So many pixels, so little time
The first shot I thought an accident
But the second and the last glance exit
Clicking to the creep
Would he take her to his desk? The break
Room table with its laminex romance?
Eat her with his eyelash teeth, his pupil throat, his retina bowel?
I always liked Suzie Porter, I thought
She would be quick to laugh
Not like me with my stockpiles of disgust.
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