Commutation

“… for a man to measure his happiness, he must go to the closet & lay out his ties end to end.
This is the exact distance he stands from happiness” –Michael Leunig

A champion’s breakfast of metaphor,
spotted yellow tie, tooth-paste, mouth-wash
and I head out to catch the 8.01
bound for Spencer St station.

The ticket machine already vandalised,
I have time to watch students spit at one another
Across the platforms, in clear violation
of the silence agreed upon by the adults congealed

in the shadow of Yarraville station.
The Werribee Express shoulders past empty
and I’m naïve enough to ask, “Why doesn’t it stop here?”
They back away from me as if I have

an accent, or poetry on my breath.
Finally some reprobate on a skateboard
slips under a Williamstown train,
and relief warms the platform like justice.
    –2004?

Fare Evasion

I love a morning like this: the light
in a vise of black cloud & quicksilver
city skyline. So thick & slow you could
run a finger-tip through it like icing

on a birthday-cake. Not hurrying, though
it’s true I’m late & there is work to do–
for someone else & a little money,
But it’s Friday morning & it doesn’t

matter. I’ve got my headphones on & my
feet up on the seats. Only the clatter
of train wheel & rail gets through. I’m reading
poems & rocking. I haven’t bought a ticket

& yet I could be headed anywhere.
    –2004?