Les Wicks

Tide Times

Could be I had a mini-stroke

or parts of the brain gave up working

a result of over/underuse.

I lost an hour.

 

Christmas two days away

a baked cookie beach, sunshine glaze.

Surf folded like giftwrap as

Santa leant out of the rescue helicopter

waved to the kiddies on the sand.

Inexplicably I waved back.

 

Living with Silly is harder than ballroom dancing

but less exhausting than Worry.

THAT roommate I’ve harboured all these years, he

made a mess never paid a cent

took up space

as if that alone was a reasonable contribution.

 

Could be this is an idiot wisdom — heading home

I nod to a passing eucalypt.

older than me, we both share a scowl

at some upstart shrubs.

 

On the tinsel day I plan to walk to the family

burdened by sugar, love & flagrant paper.

Grandchildren will tear up everything with their laughter

as armistice leaks from each corner.

The wine, I swear, will croon.

 

With just a tinge of jealousy we’ll watch

toddlers head off to afternoon naps.

The golden retriever

won’t even raise her head. 

The Numbers

At 17 I told my father

Come the revolution you’ll be the first person I shoot.

Self-medicating, the narcotics of change

a life goal to ditch the suburbs —

achieved 12 months later, what then?

 

Drugs eventually gave me up

though I still like the music. Bloody cigarettes.

Some sensations are stronger than ever

is this normal? I’d have thought

it would be publicised somewhere as we all

turn down that dirt track to decay.

 

At 17, in just 5 minutes, I could fall in love

with the wild teenage escapee from the convent school.

Her Indian cotton, that deluge of laughter

caroming in a few days loose.

How can I find out

if she grew up to become a defendant

or the judge who handed out sentences?

 

To believe in social justice

or your friends

when you don’t believe in belief.

I’m riding something

& hope this cart is not just

reinforcing the ruts in a

woeful path. I’m 69,

today pass nothing more interesting

than refuse & drear

(though there’s still some glitter

deep in the rickle).

 

Marched against most wars

even when it was just me & 24 Indonesians.

20 years in the union movement

didn’t overcome

but we tried.

 

Some say never look back.

How can you look forward if you don’t?

 

Occasionally think worry is just an indulgence.

I get emails from Ukraine

read about Gaza.

Can’t “pick a side” in Africa so

visit a friend in hospital

lost 26 inches of bowel

she loves the meds remember when…

 

At 17 surrender was not an option.

Nothing’s changed.

 

About the author: For over 50 years, Les Wicks has been active in the Australian literary community.  He has been a guest at most of his nation’s literary festivals alongside a substantial list of international ones. 2024 Boao International Lifetime Achievement Award, 2025 Silk Road Oceanian Poet of the Year. Publication has been seen in over 500 different newspapers, anthologies and magazines across 42 countries in 19 languages. Has conducted workshops around Australia, edited various projects over the decades, latest being Class (2024) & runs Meuse Press which focuses on poetry outreach projects like poetry on buses & poetry published on the surface of a river.

 

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