The Things

I lean on the gate. It’s cold & metallic, & that is completely reassuring — A peeled banana, almost whole & reasonably fresh, in front of the green garage door down the street — Someone’s up a ladder doing house repairs to the tune of ‘All My Friends are Getting Married’ —Abandoned fold-up stroller under a jacaranda near a street corner. It’s been there a while, leaf dust accumulating in its folds — ‘I win again’ says little girl to daddy in the race up the garden path to the front door — A large magnificent orange & black winged insect is roaming around between three almost pristine fake grass patches on the verge — Two empty longnecks of Hahn SuperDry on a bench on the verge, but socially distanced — A microwave oven sits on top of a station wagon’s bonnet. A sign attached to it says ‘For Sale $30’ — Furry carcass on the verge, skull bones protruding from one end. Large rat, I guess — She says to me: ‘They are playing music from the 20s. The Great Depression.’ Gestures to a nearby house then walks towards the rail crossing with a small plastic bag of groceries — A mother & son are at the nets at Goodwood Oval. She’s batting: ‘Show me what you got’. He bowls very wide. Next one a little tighter & short-pitched. He’s wearing sunglasses — Dad on bike explaining stuff to kid on bike — A rainbow emerges from clouds chalked onto a cement driveway — The delivery guy keeps his distance, ‘must be safe’, says ‘I’m 64 with a crook chest, it’ll carry me off’, gestures upwards, ‘hey sky, if you want me now, you can take me’, waves & drives off — A black & white butterfly hovers above me near the oval entrance. Is it the colour of my shirt (magenta) that interests it, or the leaves, the weeds? — A man stands at a bus stop, wiping his face with his right hand — The physically distanced chairs in the waiting room make it feel we’re part of a performance that either hasn’t yet begun or has begun with no script, score or instructions. We are the performance — A discarded & cracked white plastic fork under a tree — Walking towards East Avenue I hear the tolling of the rail crossing & the station’s loudspeaker, announcements without bodies — The once-fresh banana cast down near the green garage door is now blackening & two centipedes crawl around it — It’s overcast, a few spits of rain, & the gate’s metal feels chilly. I don’t linger