A Poem for New Year

A Poem for New Year

Between the glass of window and door,
the wee hours dissolve; a flickering

of lights paints and repaints the same
room until the knocking of the wind

gives way to a creeping shadow of light
and, upstairs, the emptying of bladders.

I knew then there is no future;
only a present of endless possibilities.

Two boys, scuffling over a stick,
red-faced and full of it, look up

and, with a kind of smiling, stilted
embarrassment, find themselves men.

No more the vicissitude of crazy golf!

We walk to the edge where the breakers
spill, where the salted, rotting innards

of a building, once grand, disgorge,
where red-eyed drunks, young couples

with prams and nowhere to go
sit, watch and wait for the tide to go out.

In a room full of possibilities,
no more the empty resolution of the door.

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