Song of day

David G O'Sullivan

Walking down the city street at 7 a.m.

Smiling like a fool at the new day,

People return nasty looks

But I have no work to do today

And a place to sleep tonight.

But 6 p.m. on that same day

Sad and alone I sit

In the corner of my room

And cry.

The light shines naked on the wall,

A harsher light than before.

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Any town drunk.

David G O'Sullivan

From out of the pub, the drunken man stumbles.

Into the black car park at 2 am, he falls.

All carparks look the same.

Lonely, dirty, quiet and painfully lit.

A white cat walks slowly by,

it is so hungry; each step brings it pain, and it will soon die.

The drunk stops by a light pole and leans against a green bin.

It was here one week ago

his friend was punched and killed.

It was on this spot the man died.

A red mark stains the ground; it looks like old, dried blood.

Here is another death. The drunk thinks about his dreams,

which, like the blood,

are now dried spots in lonely places.

The beer burns in his guts, and churns,

a sharp, hot wind blows grit.

Work again tomorrow, that depressing place.

His hand numb with drink and life holds him steady against the cold bin

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The great beauty

David G O'Sullivan

She was one of those girls you always look at when she comes in the room,

you try to see her out of the corner of your eye,

you watch where she sits

and when she looks up you look away quickly, so you’re not just staring at her.

She has that long flowing hair that drives people crazy

and she is really well shaped.

Not thin like some stick, but pretty.

Her nose is a knockout; it sits there like it was made for nothing

but looking pretty.

When she smiles, it’s like when you see a new sports car or when you see a thousand dollars in cash,

you just look at it because you know it is so good.

But she comes in the room surrounded by friends

and smiling that thousands of dollars in a sports car smile

And she sits down over near the old…

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Dark places

David G O'Sullivan

Those dark places exist

Because your dreams die away like flames in melted candles

When at 4 am the darkness is running down your walls like rain

And there is a flash of light,

But the room is empty.

Was that someone standing at the end of the hall?

Look again and know no one is there.

The fear of knowing no one is there,

Like an empty room from where music is playing

Or an all-night radio station, where no one is playing music, but the music keeps playing.

Loneliness creeps into your life,

Enemies appear and everyone is against you

And you remember the girl

Who leaped from a bridge to the freeway below.

In that moment of silence before she died

Did she feel free?

Or does terror blind you?

It hurts so much, and it never ends.

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Fishing from the boardwalk

David G O'Sullivan

Simon Ferris stood on the boardwalk and leaned over the edge, looking at a large timber pallet that floated in the salt water below. The timber was covered in shells and black worms. He stood a long time and wondered what the things on the pallet were. After a while, he pulled back and staggered down the boardwalk. The timber was uneven and hurt his legs which were twisted and weak. He had refused to take a wheelchair today; he wanted to walk.

Halfway down, back toward the street that led up into the city, he stopped and watched a pretty girl who sat on a bench in the shade near Shraff’s Amusement hall. She wore a tight red top, and her blonde hair was tied back with a blue ribbon. Next to her was a baby carriage. She leaned over occasionally to look inside. Each time she leaned over…

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Story teller

David G O'Sullivan

He was a writer and a poet

A real writer though if you can understand,

He would bleed words all over the page.

Notebook after bloodynotebook.

Piled up on the table and in his wardrobe

And his wife

Would say how he was always writing,

Even when he was supposed to be doing else.

He would journey back to his childhood in his mind

And tell us stories.

To catch the train, he and his sister

(Who was five years older),

Would have to walk across the neighbour’s farm to get to the little platform.

Then they would wave the train down with a flag

And it would puff to a stop so they could climb aboard.

One year, when he was about twelve years old,

Some kids started catching the train to school with them.

They were working on the farm nearby

And they were dirt…

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