Poem: On the 6.04pm Platform 8 to Osborne
In this week’s Poet’s Corner, David Mortimer of Adelaide sees his father again.
On the 6.04 pm Platform 8 to Osborne
in memoriam, Arthur
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I look up, and suddenly, in the train window’s mirror, backed with stationary platform darkness, there’s Dad! – as clear as anything in the glass – I start to wave, although, I start to remember, should know by now, he’s nearly five years dead, but it’s been a long day – and Dad moves his hand, his head like he’s just been playing with ideas, thinking through a plan, to save the planet or the Labor Party, the library system or the football season, a little tired in the eyes, but mostly content to imagine he’s holding handlebars on a bike, balancing a helmet, a bag and a book, and and nodding to his son over there, his daughter-in-law too, and also the grandson’s girlfriend he’s never met.
David Mortimer was an original contributor to Poet’s Corner in its Independent Weekly print days. He lives in Adelaide and also writes poems for reading aloud. His collection Magic Logic, from Puncher & Wattmann in 2012, includes poems shortlisted for the Blake, Newcastle, and Montreal poetry prizes. Previous collections include Red in the Morning from Bookends in 2005, and Fine Rain Straight Down, Friendly Street New Poets Eight, from Wakefield Press in 2003. Today’s poem is about David’s father Arthur William Blake Mortimer (1931-2011), who has a plaque in Semaphore Library and his name on the Port Adelaide Workers’ Memorial, and whose obituary can be found here.