ACT 1533
Charles Freyberg
AT THE EDGE OF TREES
Rushcutters Bay Park 1970s.
At the edge of trees,
I cannot enter.
The moon illuminates
tense streaks of clouds
its rim peeps out
rusted with a filthy haze
full now but for a tiny bite
cut by fingers of branches
shaking with the wind
or with my terror and drunkenness.
All is quiet now but not still.
My flesh is alive
dreaming silhouettes of flesh
behind every lonely tree,
trunks rounded with leering bumps.
I wheel around, searching in panic
“til I’m touched by a hand,
heated fingers play under my shirt
peeling at the coldness of my surface
tobacco breath tickles my ear
and as I turn
buttons flying from his shirt,
my cheek falls into the roughness of his chest
the glow of his skin
throbs with blood
touching my eyes, my tongue.
A wet scab on his knuckle
caresses my face.
I stand dizzy
in the chilly wind
not knowing how to channel
this bursting shock
as raindrops patter.
He pulls the clasp of my belt,
for a moment I am strong
until I giggle doubting it
buoyed by his choking, swallowing mouth.
He rises and stares
I fix into his eyes
I want my power again
I want his power
His hand touches my head ……
2.
The park now drains of urgency,
my buttocks squelch with mud
my trousers are undone
a bloody bite on my nipple from …..
unshaven whiskey breath
bruises on scarred muscles
but beneath his roughened skin ….
a pleading melted his threatening stance,
a demon in him leapt into me
a wild caress of my whole torso.
He pushed me away
when I asked his name …..
Monsters have no name.
I lost my name
never again
the hush of my yawning suburb.
His heart beat as I licked his skin
our breath surged together,
is he changed into me,
an awkward stumbling boy with a book in his hand?
I stare at the shadows of men circling.
I feel a deep contentment.
I will never go back and hide.