there’s not just the one you know –
everyone thinks about the bitumen being uprooted
to let more pedestrians through
tourist foot traffic
Clover calls it
as though there aren’t enough uninvited
feet or traffic on Gadigal land
but this one
on Darug country is
same
same
but different
campos cups line gutters
boral trucks circulate concrete
for the
ever growing
evergreen
evergods’
towers of babel
erected
in honour of the pink phalluses that run the world
alleyways hide away
ashtrays
in polyester suits and too-tight skirts
faces swollen with pride
dare a virus that hides in tabloids and Pauline’s lies
and are
dotted by those with three
filtered layers of the best PPE
China has to offer
it was on this road that she power-walked
pandemic productivity still key
to line up outside of Destination Roll for bánh mì that would
slice open
the roof of her mouth
when he
looking down and scrolling fast
walked into her
spilling his brew
scalding his ego
black
dyke
cunt
and she stood
stunned
because despite the remarkably pressed shirt
the cravat and the latest device
the letters before and after his name
he had only scored one out of three
on this indictment
points for trying
she muttered through the fabric on her face
This poem was commissioned by Diversity Arts Australia as part of the I Am Not a Virus project. Supported by Australia Council for the Arts, Create NSW, Creative Victoria, City of Sydney, City of Parramatta and Inner West Council.