You're A Bit Past It, Love...

*



In the Drink
He would have gone to Hell ageine, and earnest sute did make:
But Charon would not suffer him to passe the Stygian lake.
—Ovid, Metamorphoses (tr. Arthur Golding)

Never mind phantom forms, the Keaton-crash
that dumped us in that sea-fed swamp,
the Dutch kill, Latin nihil, thing without
opposite—attend instead the transcendent,

the flying, for god's sake, what we saw
the moment before we thwocked overboard:
a heron stutter-flapped and lifted off,
clumsy as a wind-mauled tarp at first,

but couth beyond sublime once clear
of cattail punks and saltgrass tips,
the overturned rowboat's rusted hull.
Or the cormorant that plunked and dipped,

rose flipping fish from beak to tongue
and down its neck, water beading on its head.
But the crown that really pleased the crowd
my maiden voyage was iridescent green,

brilliantined, a merganser's spiky coxcomb.
He swam right by, chasing red herrings
and cackling so happily I had to pull
a feather from his cap. And so I surfaced

solo. I tell myself, I only launch the bark,
I never book the seats. I didn't stop
to spin the prop or wipe the rail, just tipped
the motor up and paddle-poled, bottom-

stirred. Rousted horseshoe crabs, sleeping
ducks, cranky grebes, slapped along
the little waves, the seeping tide, lonelier, sure,
indignant, too—what better lover

has plucked and boasted, over what better lyre?
An open boat: it's company, not coin, I want.
I'll tune the wake to silence, court grace, make change—
still trading on the laughs I've jerry-rigged.

John Hennessy

Poetry
October 2008



Shadowed, warned, in giant rooms and muffled sounds. He looked up from the floor. He could see giant feet moving all around him. He could smell stale beer and cigarettes, and see the slops along the tray at the bottom of the bar. He could hear voices coming from far away. He was troubled, dependent, crashing. This wasn't the first time. They were crying out; and he couldn't hear them. Lyn was pushing the pram, little Blaize all tucked up inside. This was the psychic centre of the known universe, this little web of streets, these people he knew. He was surprised to be accepted by them. They were everything he wanted to be.

Fabulous, funny, money no object. He was curled up inside dying and here they were partying like there was no tomorrow; drinks raised. Bottles of champagne littered the floor. All he could smell was alcohol. Someone was trying to shake him awake. Is he alright, alright, he heard a voice ask, alright? Nothing was right, he thought, as his consciousness dissolved. A trite thought. He had sought oblivion, and now found it. Nothing would ever change. Nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing was in his heart. He recognised the voice of the bitch. What's this? The smallest joint in the world, rolled just for you.

They stamped over him like cattle, someone kept shaking him. Where had it begun? What had happened? Was it the pills, what pills? He couldn't remember. Was it the gin and tonics? Hadn't there been gin at some time in the afternoon; as the light poured in the window of an inner-city apartment. He ahd written so beautifully about the mad, and now they were dying, he was dying. What, what? But even now he couldn't rise to the surface. Perhaps it was the double bourbons that did it, the triple ouzos, the loss of life. The rooster crowed in the dawn. He would never remember.

The bitch was going to die with a pillow over his face, deliberately smothered by his lover to escape the final agonising throws of AIDS. What turmoil it had been. How fabulous they had felt. There in the know, their secret enclave, the club that could only belong to them. Outside, strangers went about their lives as if nothing was happening. They kept shaking him, wake up, wake up, but he didn't want to wake up anymore, hadn't wanted to wake up for a very long time. He had made a mess of absolutely everything. Why surface, why let them ridicule him yet again?

It had been easy when he was young. All he had to do was walk down the street and eyes would turn. They followed him hungrily. He took it as his due. It's for some to have and for some to want, an old queen said, and he smiled benevolently, giving away hope because it was cheap. You want to live forever? I don't think so. And here he was an old man; almost 30; and nobody was chasing him any more. From the hunted to the hunter. Not even he could stop time. The shaking grew more persistent. Is he dead? someone asked. It was just like the day he drowned in the pool, he didn't care whether he came back or not. It was all a joke.

Big feet, smelly feet. The poorly cleaned carpet. The slops, perhaps he could drink the slops. Someone had grabbed him and lifted him to his feet. He tried to stand, and instead found himself draped across a stranger. What? Who? I love you, he mumbled, slumping again. They dragged him outside into the street. He could see the bitch and his little coterie laughing. They would. He came back into himself. Sorry, he slurred, sorry. It's alright mate, just sit here, the bouncer said, dumping him in an alcove along the side of the building.

Are you alright? the beefcake asked, looking him directly in the eye.
Alright? he repeated back. No, I'm not alright. I don't know what's wrong. I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with you.
Just sober up, mate, the man said, and left him there.
Shortly afterwards the bitch swished by, heading to the alley at the rear of the building for a smoke. You better not, he said dismissively, when he rallied, trying to join him. You're a bit past it, love.

The coterie laughed. The traffic continued its sad swish past the bar, oblivious to the little scene in the street. He heard the phrase repeated as the group turned the corner of the building, their derisive laughter. You're a bit past it, love... You're a bit past it...



THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.canberratimes.com.au/news/local/news/general/clock-ticking-for-mccain-obama-warns/1342254.aspx

Front-running Democrat Barack Obama has warned his White House rival John McCain he is ''running out of time'' after rejecting new Republican gibes about his own candidacy as a risk to national security.
Senator Obama, flanked by top veteran military officials in Virginia, mocked Senator McCain as ''out of touch and running out of time''.

But just 13 days before the presidential election, the Republican candidate cautioned the senator from Illinois not to take victory for granted despite his mammoth financial edge and solid lead in a slew of opinion polls.

Senator McCain also returned to his attack after recent comments by Democratic vice-presidential pick Joe Biden that, just like former president John F.Kennedy, Senator Obama would be ''tested'' by an international crisis within six months of taking office.

The Republican, a military veteran, noted that he had some ''personal experience'' with crises, citing his role in the 1962 US-Soviet showdown over Cuban missiles known as the Cuban missile crisis when he was a fighter pilot assigned to Cuban targets.

He told an enthusiastic rally at a high school football field in Green, Ohio, ''I know how close we came to a nuclear war and I will not be a president who needs to be tested. I have been tested.''

http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2008/10/23/1224351397415.html

A Sydney telco employee has learned the hard way the perils of sharing too much information on Facebook after he was caught by his boss faking a sickie after a big night out.

In an email exchange doing the rounds of office blocks, Kyle Doyle was asked by his employer, AAPT, to provide a medical certificate verifying a day of sick leave in August.

Doyle, a call centre worker, protested, saying his contract stipulated he did not require a medical certificate for taking only one day off.

His boss replied that this was usually the case but in this instance the company had determined that the leave was not due to medical reasons.

"My leave was due to medical reasons, so you cannot deny leave based on a line manager's discretion, with no proof, please process leave as requested," Doyle responded.

The manager then sent Doyle a screen grab of Doyle's Facebook profile, highlighting a status update written on the leave day in question.

"Kyle Doyle is not going to work, f--- it i'm still trashed. SICKIE WOO!," it read.

Sprung and with no room left to move, Doyle replied to the boss: "HAHAHA LMAO [laughing my ass off] epic fail. No worries man."

Doyle did not respond to a request for comment sent over Facebook but a friend of his confirmed the incident was not a hoax.

The employer would not comment.

http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2008-10/24/content_10241863.htm

WASHINGTON, Oct. 23 (Xinhua) -- Republican presidential candidate John McCain lost his lead in rural American voters as more of them favored his Democratic rival, Barack Obama, in handling the country's economic crisis, said a poll released on Thursday.

According to the survey conducted by the Center for Rural Strategies, Obama slightly led McCain by 46 percent to 45 percent among the 841 likely rural voters in 13 battleground states including New Hampshire, Pennsylvania and Ohio.

About 49 percent of rural voters favored Obama on key issue of the economy, while 40 percent supported McCain in this regard.

The result was in strong contrast with a poll released a month ago, showing McCain led by 51 percent to 41 percent among rural voters.

"That is really bad news for John McCain," said Seth McKee, a political scientist at the University of South Florida, to the National Public Radio on the survey. "If the rural vote is essentially split in these swing states, then John McCain's certain to lose."