I am told there’s been trouble at the plant.
they tell me this with that strange mixture
of fear and relish so characteristic of the beaten.
I am at a loss as to why they come to me,
but they seem to seek me out,
as though they regarded me as some sort of bridge.
but when they come like this
with their dark, beseeching eyes
to tell me there is trouble at the plant,
something in me folds,
and all the distance I have put between
myself and their worries, so assiduously maintained
like a prim hedge,
the kind of hedge that states more emphatically
than a strand of razor wire
suddenly all that distance melts away
and all my loathing turns inwards,
like when I spy the boss’ daughter in her summer skirt
and I realise in a flash I am not the prince of my mother’s songs.
Justin Lowe was born in Sydney but spent significant portions of his childhood on the Spanish island of Minorca with his younger sister and artist mother. He developed a penchant for writing poetry while penning lyrics for a string of bands, successful and not so, and has since been published all over the world. Justin currently resides in a house called “Doug” in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney where he edits poetry blog Bluepepper. His selected, Days of Wine and Bruises, 1996-2016, was released in April 2016.