Tramming it home

Tramming it home - Lonsdale Street, 1880

Slipping in and above cuts mid-streets as if in boats that float mid-stream.

Wind catches where windows can’t be fully closed.

There’s the rattle and
shakes like we
may come off
hinge.

I can’t speak it like it should be said.

Something I can’t remember. A word. The Italian keeps coming through

and I can’t remember that either.

Who fed me my first language, then cut it off?

Why did I dream in Italian? It was just a month, just a visit,

Here. Australia,

that’s where someone like me belongs, surely?

You think I speak the language. Yes I love the trams. They are mine just as much as anyone’s,

but there’s music in me that comes
from the slip and slide between one element

and another.

Listen. You can hear its beat.

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