splinters and lanes

An apparent splinter in my left thumb was bothering me most of yesterday. Today I hacked at it using a needle seared by a lighter. Don't know if I got the splinter out, don't know if there was one (the blackened tip of the needle spread black all round). I heaved some Betadine all over it anyway. It's still a bit sore, still a bit black, but I feel something has been released.

I went up the street to get a prescription filled for Annette, buy the paper and some more choy sum and a packet of egg noodles. One of our neighbours indicted a route through the laneways which was an easier walk. Someone walked up behind me and I moved. There was no danger but I always remember being mugged. Here was the backside, garages, driveways, no footpaths, garages where Immigration found families of ten living, lanes where building and street rubbish collects. Then onto the main road, narrow as it is. In the chemist the radio was playing 'Where streets have no name'. Another Vietnamese restaurant has closed down, is for lease. I go back home the usual way but I think about the lane and the song. Something that may be released.

I'm not drawing any parallels, except I am placing these two paragraphs together.


Andrew Burke said…
Why haven't I read this before? Oh, well, I have now. It is very - touching. I hate it when people say 'You oughta write a poem about it' but ... you oughta :-)

The Vietnamese restaurant closed and for lease has a plaintive edge to it that would be ideal as an undercurrent or subtext.

Is grandmother sucking her eggs yet?

Jill Jones said…
You eggin' me on, Andrew? I think something is brewing.

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