They’ve walked a world of lives from
baby lurches sailing home from Perth to straight-
laced pacing between bandaged men.
They pumped out hymns in a Nissen church,
moved on to heavy chords for villains, tender airs
for partings, hurry music for the chase.
They’ve felt the pillion rumble of an Ariel,
sweltered in rubber boots for victory,
double declutched a reluctant Morris Six.
In glossy black, they doorstepped promises
of smoother pavements, brighter streets,
then tattooed rage in council arguments.
They’ve stumbled at the crem for husband,
mother, only son, then returned to
forte-pianoing for arabesque and entrechat.
Last May they stomped in crimson straps
with nails of tangerine. Now, even trapped by
tautened sheets, they’re beating time.