I don’t know

I don’t know

Anything

Not really

I’m as crazy as the next guy

Even crazier than

The woman I can hear talking

On her phone

Somewhere up there

I can’t see her

But I can hear

This barely literate one-sided conversation

An Aussie drawl

Not that there is anything wrong

With that

But somebody was listening

To her ramble

On the other end

She was as sick as a dog

After a night out

With the old fella

Too much grog and Parma

A little heavy on the sauce

She could still taste it

At the back of her throat

I felt like getting hold of it

But then again I could

Shut the door

Get away from the story

I think she just cursed

The brass neck of her neighbour

For knocking on the wall

When she played music

And sang

Last night

After midnight

No wonder she is complaining

Of a sore head

In the middle of the day

Discussing the taste

Of vomit

Where is this woman?

I think she is on a balcony above

Remind me not to spend time

Getting to know her

Gosh, she has a catgut twang

An outback edge.

They drove

Nearly drowned

In the river

Bloody hell what did I miss

She is crazier than me

And I am still writing

Is it a habit

A ritual?

Is there a reason for it

When there is no rhyme

But I am driven

It is not just filling time

Am I a fool

To myself

For believing it is important

To mark the passing

Words are all we have

Perhaps it is a curse

Like a Were-Rabbit.

Once I focussed

The woman’s voice

Disappeared

I missed the end

But no

She is back again

Just to say goodbye

I am not sure who the glutton is

Am I preying on her

Just by sitting here

Tapping a keyboard

Does it make me better

Wiser

Than her?

Than I was?

Or am I just letching

Off a gory

Hory

Sob story.

She used to get into trouble

For telling tall tales

Pillow talk

After the grog

I know how she feels.