Figures of Speech
A few seconds
out from Salisbury train station
an old native cherry
someone has decorated
with perhaps fifty hung
plastic nursery chairs.
A bright multi-coloured cone
of lights. A mystery May-pole.
A metaphor I will not
unravel in a single journey.
A cipher with as many solutions
as the countless red gum sleepers
from here to the city.
Mitcham Shopping Centre
High and lifted up. He hangs in the sun
filled atrium against two crossed steel bars.
A self-imposed elevation, his shadow is flung
down the mall where startled shoppers are
stopped and gaze up to where his bright yellow
overalls belie what might be a mute
puppet on invisible wires in the mellow
afternoon; or dancing for some circus troupe;
even a strange trapped tropical bird
caught in the glaze of glass and heat and light.
Or an actor from the Theatre of the Absurd
putting on a noiseless play of fear and flight.
He is though only what he is - and why
with his long blade, he wipes and cleans the sky.
©Jeff Guess 2017