The Colors of Silence

(for Lawrence Mooney
after retelling a rotten bus trip story
from Melbourne to Mudgee return)
 

There will always be little things that worry us:

a nasty young estate agent threatening tribunal proceedings,
running out of petrol on the freeway
and nothing in that new can - of course,
the wind slowing your grocery laden stride,
hurling those new underpants on the gravel;
the spot where Mr Rainey, your cranky neighbour
chucks gallons of used cooking oil,
mould growing in your last slices of bread
and the milk bar man waving goodnight
to his last dithery customer.

Close your eyes
Try to acquire a piece of silence

Imagine the sky a hundred colors,
your windows possessed of an irresistible fragrance,
that the dishes in your sink are jelly beans
and witty letters from the only girl you ever kissed in Dubbo.

Imagine your noisy fridge, a misty cupboard that houses:
a revolutionary  guidebook to world harmony,
a suit that lets you dance like Fred Astaire
and your mother's truest wishes.
                          &n bsp;            &nbs p;        And don't forget your weary car.
See it as a freshly painted boat that leads you
into jewelled sunsets, down cool streams of contented fish;
your coffee and sandwiches packed - and waiting.

Lawrence: keep your way clean, your imagination intact,
                 look for the seasons, the stars, the eager smile
                 of a lost friend.
 
                          &n bsp;            &nbs p;         Beauty cannot escape you.
 

Kieran Carroll

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