Gerry Jacobson

Headless in Yarralumla

walking down
to the café
I keep on the grass
in a dream of walking
long ago and somewhere else

It’s a congenial café in the grey dawn. A table full of chatting MAMILs. Behind me a table full of younger, athletic cyclists. My quiet corner is intruded when rowers plonk themselves at the other end. So I have rowing gossip in one ear as I try and write my morning pages. My pen flows, then stutters. I sip the bitter black coffee; ask the waitress for poached eggs on toast. I’m alone, yet not alone. I look up and notice that the eponymous mural “Farmer’s Daughter” is headless. She’s been cut off by an air purifier, but the rest of her still milks the cow. The sun rises on the first day of Canberra’s autumn.

pick up
a newspaper…
there’s drought
and despair … the sudoku
is diabolical

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About the Author

Gerry Jacobson lives in Canberra, Australia, and can be found writing tanka in its cafes.  He was a geologist in a past life and now celebrates reincarnation as a dancer.

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