Pam Brown

New Poems

This & That
(I cite myself)

Resting like a relic
in a field of meaning –
push the rocks around
for transformation –
gravel rash, scab, scar,
factors that
fall squarely.
(like that)

those well-known codes –
public-private continuum –
a surveyor’s tripod clacks –
the laneway, reduced
& framed,
is picturesque –
even the rubbish
appears artificial.

casual citations
empirical tactics –
o no it’s
an index of anecdote

the hypermarket
surveillance camera
attempts its capture –
my nearly-beautiful
every dream,
my artificial memory

disease, elusive entity,
pale gloved hands,
yet HIV negative.
the milky
ampule’s contents
swallowed –
waste management, the nightclub.

sleepless in a townhouse,
hours of
(like this)



stranded on
the roundabout
a dazed pedestrian
hopes to cross
to the noodle bar

the october evening
heady with hops –
my small mica-blue car
passes by
the Bandido shootout
S&M club,
then the brewery

in traffic
I do a lot
of thinking

the lead kids
in Bay Street,
backs to a sunset
they never notice,
shouting at
the concrete mixers –
Turn off your engines !
the sky goes rococo
Residential Area !
No Standing Zone !

in a hurry ?
if you like,
you can skip
the last sections
of the poem

after work,
fearless in an office suit,
a cyclist
runs the red lights
on the way downtown

a cardboard
fruit box
collected by
a station wagon
hurled up
to land unflattened

the sky,
as if backlit,
turning glamorous
& final

waiting for dark
in Cleveland Street
a carjacker fidgets,
flicks & twirls
his cigarette.

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