Young men on the corners like scattered leaves



Good morning Footscray


I leave my flat and

Walk past the strange, expanding dark stain

On the hall carpet outside

The dead guy’s door

The mirror at the back of the lift

Reflects today’s dress decisions back at me

The down-lit theatre mask behind the glass

Looks predictably unimpressed

I really need to stop by my barber this week

Outside, the walk-through is littered with the detritus of the abandoned

Everything crumpled or shattered

As violent as a short life

Down Paisley Street I pass two Junkies

Arguing about the most important thing

Their drug addled brains can imagine

The old indecipherable Greek guy from my floor

Is tagging along with them again

I think he has a crush on the woman – a Maori like her crazy boyfriend

That won’t end well

It would all be a lot less sad

If they didn’t always have the little kid with them

I make my way to the train

Beneath the watchful eyes of multiple CCTV cameras

They see everything that happens here

And change



Nothing changes in Footscray

Broken people with different faces

And the exact same stare

Make the same plays

Work the same deals

And have the same pointless conversation

Over and over

Over and over

Lives on a loop

I tell myself it’s nothing

You’ll be out soon

But even so

This will all still go on and on


I pop my ear buds in

And let Springsteen paint over the cracks of reality

With a little blue romance.







3 thoughts on “Young men on the corners like scattered leaves

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