Canberra Winter:
Adapted from the Russian
She’s keeping me waiting
On this icy street-corner.
Freezing in a phone booth,
Coatless, coughing, shivering,
Dyed blonde with a pinched face,
Teen-aged, unkempt,
Hoarse with long pleading,
Thin shoulders shaking,
Arguing with silence
- Cold, black
receiver -
Stumbles out, clumsily,
Red-eyed, unseeing.
Young belly swollen,
Bare legs blue-veined.
Hard frost has gripped her,
Black ice of rejection.
Winter freezes her tears;
Something in her must die.
I finish my phone call,
Stirred by cheap scent.
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