#3 Waking for Joe

I meet Joe
On the Piccadilly Greens
He is sleeping among the bleachers and his knotted beard
As the mid-night sweepers go about their cleaning
After the 5.00 am Riots
Is this Joe Talmana? The Joe Talmana?
The sun is almost up fully, still in motion
Gun shots ring out
Off in the distance, not so distant
Is it guns or bayonets?
What do bayonets going off sound like?
This Joe wouldn't know
These sounds don't disturb him anymore
Joe wakes up as the horse piss and canal water
Carrying pop corn and beer
Run over the cracked leather of his aching two feet
"Mama, we is people too"
Joe does not recognise me nor the song
He looks up in space as if to say
"You too" and in silence he walks off
Leaving his bois behind in a drain
Heading for George Street

I don't dare call out to him

#2 My Face

I can never remember my face
I can't remember my own face
Even sometimes when I think
I see it in a mirror of a pool
I can't I don't recognise it
Once I thought I did and I jumped
The changes in the water mesmerise
I can't remember any ideas
Of my face that I may have seen
I don't recognise any ideas
Inside my head that I may have heard

U. V. I.