Gedicht
Miriam Wei Wei Lo
From Eva Sounness: Saturday Night Dances
From Eva Sounness: Saturday Night Dances
From Eva Sounness: Saturday Night Dances
There is a type of man at the Saturday danceswho generally stands in the corner discussing the cricket
or football. Mt Barker, Saturday night. Cliff glances
across the room. The boys hold forth on the wickets
that just keep falling, bodyline bowling, the Don—
his next strategy. Something makes Clifford forget
his description of Bradman’s style. Is it the song
that they’re playing, or, the woman who stands there waiting
to be asked? Eva is glad for someone to lean on,
she notes that his arms are steady, although his dancing
leaves something to be desired. As they move, she weighs
his soberness against bandy legs, his shuffling
two-step, the smell of the farm on his collar. She sways.
Above their heads the song of the fiddle plays.
© 2004, Miriam Lo
From: Against Certain Capture
Publisher: Five Islands Press, Wollongong
From: Against Certain Capture
Publisher: Five Islands Press, Wollongong
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From Eva Sounness: Saturday Night Dances
There is a type of man at the Saturday danceswho generally stands in the corner discussing the cricket
or football. Mt Barker, Saturday night. Cliff glances
across the room. The boys hold forth on the wickets
that just keep falling, bodyline bowling, the Don—
his next strategy. Something makes Clifford forget
his description of Bradman’s style. Is it the song
that they’re playing, or, the woman who stands there waiting
to be asked? Eva is glad for someone to lean on,
she notes that his arms are steady, although his dancing
leaves something to be desired. As they move, she weighs
his soberness against bandy legs, his shuffling
two-step, the smell of the farm on his collar. She sways.
Above their heads the song of the fiddle plays.
From: Against Certain Capture
From Eva Sounness: Saturday Night Dances
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