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Cabbage Tree . . . Three Lamps
There’s a cabbage tree
between the pub & the police station
in Ponsonby.
Above an asphalt yard
by the drive in bottle store
it sways above the beer crate stacks.
Come closing time it will have heard
the race results
& sport on one
it will have heard the blues
of Sonny Day
the rattle
of the meat pack dice
the juke box rock ‘n’ roll.
It will dance above the beer crate stacks
above the parked police cars.
A drunk in a graffiti cell
will swear he dreams
one tall slender cabbage tree
swaying slowly on the dance floor of his memory
dressed in a gown of shining green
with jewellery of white & cream –
in the early hours he hears it whispering.
By daybreak he will not remember
anything about a cabbage tree
between the pub
& the police station
in Ponsonby.
© Bob Orr
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