By Allan Lake
So warm inside the medical centre. Padded chairs, clean toilets, TV, chilled water. Nobody asks why I’m here. Receptionists don’t notice me so my invisibility is working today. As their title suggests they’re paid to receive not to sort out those with appointments and those who need a warm, dry place to rest on a cold, rainy Melbourne Monday. Doctors pop out of rooms, call out names that are never mine. Back on the street I break for a cheap doughnut, cheaper coffee, ‘free’ banana from a supermarket. I can retire from rat race (with pension) in thirty-one years but till then it’s a battle that only lacks an identifiable enemy other than myself.
Allan Lake, a stray from Allover, Canada, now writes poetry in Allover, Australia.
Latest chapbook of poems, ‘My Photos of Sicily’, published by Ginninderra Press, 2020.