By: Ian C. Smith

Leave’s End

Her, crushed to his brass buttons, khaki,
a tableau I longed to see again.
I stared at him, a stranger to me.
Her crushed to his brass buttons, khaki,
at our opened door where I could see
through a waft of petrol, drizzling rain.
Her crushed her to his brass buttons, khaki,
a tableau I longed to see again.
*

Newsboy

Dawn. A reader lurks behind his front gate,
dressing-gown, pyjamas, cock standing tall,
greets me, perky, as if I am his mate,
pride in its raw girth instance of lust’s gall.
Finishing my route, editing detail,
his lewd suggestions, verbal compliance,
I tell Mum who calls the cops without fail.
Close school pals gather in rapt alliance
blowing ironic smoke streams, weigh the deed.
Our verdict: tar and feathers for flash sin.
In court, my perv, decent in tie and tweed,
stuns me, disgrace overturned for a win.
A character witness, teacher, R.I.,
blamed asthma’s attack for that gaping fly.
*

Newspeak

Summer camp, Garden of Eden, bright in green
for sheltered sufferers with damaged brains.
New York state, as far from home as I’ve been,
a journey to unlock daily grind’s chains.
I sleep in a cabin, eat in the mess,
drilled in camp rules like an army conscript.
Although I’m teacher-trained they know what’s best.
Letters to exploited carers are stripped
of complaint; residue, rose-scented news.
Brain-damaged led by the brainwashed are we.
Should disaffected visitors air views?
Visa bust, I sought the land of the free,
rank heretic in a kangaroo court,
driven off, good battle lost, justly fought.
*

Ian C Smith’s work has been published in Antipodes, BBC Radio 4 Sounds,The Dalhousie Review, Griffith Review, San Pedro River Review , Southword, The Stony Thursday Book, & Two Thirds North.  His seventh book is wonder sadness madness joy, Ginninderra (Port Adelaide).  He writes in the Gippsland Lakes area of Victoria, and on Flinders Island.