Evening in Potts Point - by Stuart Flavell

Evening in Potts Point

She would be there that evening
hushed her voice over the telephone
down from Canberra for a city stay.
He poured another glass of wine
watching numerous yachts’ silent
erect masts through his windows.
Like clumps of young, white bark
gums bobbing in a softened bush
they gathered as moths around buoys.
Saracen swords now, proud tribes of
colour gliding close together boasting
horizons and mysterious things to come.
Clashes of images as dusk and bottle’s
end searched flattened roof tops for her
arrival through the bright crowded streets.
The moon sat crooked still over the Harbour
islands with pigeon wings sounding too loud
at that moment when the telephone rang again. –

by Stuart Flavell