Australian Poet – Anton Martin Smith Writer

by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

I had been ignoring things.

As my non-fitted sheet was falling off the bed far too easily,

& as it had been doing so for six months –

It was time to go to the Red Shed to get a ‘fitted sheet’.

But I was hungry , so I stopped to get a pie & a coffee for lunch first.

Outside the shop a beautiful young-ish woman walked by.

Of course I noticed her.

Fifteen years ago, I would have been actively plotting to meet her perhaps.

When I was younger, slimmer & could still be temporarily confused for a ‘success’.

On dating matters I was more courageous back then –

I had the raw instinct that hormones allow, & smartphones hadn’t had enough time-on-earth to ruin yet.

Now I’m a jaded 47-year-old, although I probably hide it well –

Due to physical work, having all my hair, & not being too fat or wrinkly.

But like all those who have been around the block – I am of course battle-scarred.

So she flittered past & I finished my pie & coffee.

I went to the Red Shed for a fitted sheet.

I’m looking through the packs, deciding on what pattern looks ok.

Then, there she is – the beautiful pie & coffee girl, doing the same thing as me.

I say ‘girl’ because I’d say she’s under thirty-two.

It was then a few emotions took over.

I felt scared.

Like I had to run away.

It was then I realised,

Just how much a big deal even the thought of dating is,

Let alone a relationship,

For a battle-scarred 47-year-old.

With those pangs of emotions hitting hard, I realised acutely & viscerally,

I was still nursing very old wounds from more than a decade ago.

I snatched the fitted sheet pack & disappeared off.

As I was walking to the checkout, I thought:

This is a very sad state of affairs –

I hadn’t until then realised quite how twice shy I really was.

Sometimes reality hits you square right between in the eyes,

And tells you your exact emotional status on the spot.

As I walked to my car, I felt partly ashamed, somewhat enlightened, and tinged with anger.

For I knew that to contibue to indulge those emotions would not bode well for my future heart.

For surely there must be some nasty ephemeral force that wants many of us to stay lonely for life.

It wants us to hunker down in fear & embrace it as a prime motivator, & worship as a guru.

It wants us to fall in love with it in true Stockholm Syndrome fashion.

At least I’ve been around the block enough to know that giving in to such evil is a waste.

Intellectually I know that – don’t we all?

I wonder if I’ll run into that beautiful woman again?

After all – I did forget to buy a pillow….

Perhaps she did too?

Oh there’s one thing I forgot to say.

Between high tailing it away from the fitted sheet rack to the cash register,

I looked at some bogan black jeans on a rack – for nowadays they are not just for bogans.

She walked past & we made eye contact.

I played it cool, & that prior emotion at the fitted sheet rack had dissipated nicely.

And now that I have long left the store & sit here writing in my messy studio,

I am thinking this:

Will I have the balls to say hello If I see her again?

Or will I succumb to being like all the others –

Like every jaded long term single forty plus-er? –

And so say not a peep & desperately avoid eye contact?

That is to allow myself to be typically Mid-Mid-21 Century Socially & Romantically Risk Adverse?

I’d like to think I can next time show some testicular fortitude at the, shall we say red shed pillow aisle.

One thing I do know is this: It can feel nice but It’s never wise to follow the crowd.

Fifteen years ago, I would have felt more confidant this situation.

But then again – I was also a total fool fifteen years ago.

This dear audience, was my ode to being single at 40 plus.

And so, of it all – I dare not talk of solutions.

I’m mostly just happy to just know what’s going on –

For I didn’t have a clue back then, fifteen years ago, when I was thirty-two.

As a battle hardened (or perhaps battle defeated) youngish-old-coot,

I know that to be true.

I guess I better go back to the Red Shed to buy that pillow I forgot about.

After all, I’ll need it anyway.

by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Post Covid – the ‘Sneak Aways’ had all but ‘dried up’.

Prior to all the madness,

As orchestrated by the Politician ‘Bond Villain’ control freaks,

That not only litter the landscape, but carve it up,

Via slights of hand & its extension – the Missile.

Yes – The regular ‘Sneakaway’ jaunts did flow smoothly,

As did the hazy ales & Burger Joint meals.

As did the Rock ‘N’ Roll tunes,

Played by many the lesser known,

Young but also more known & aging,

‘Semi Traveling Wilberrys’.

And the ‘Sneakaways’ always ended as they should:

Half content & half disorientated,

That comes with visitation to mass transit points,

Aka locales of ‘Spiritual Vortexes & Clandestine Battlefields’

Yes – these are ‘The Sneakaways’

The Spots Where There Are Always & Many

Souls for someone to save.

I did take my modern-day petrol eating horseless wagon,

And parked it by the lake – where later I would later rest my head.

The Pool Joint I did end up.

To cut a too long Poem shorter,

It contained the following:

Ten Big Pool Tables

Pizza’s

30 odd Patrons – aka The ‘New Age Gold Diggers’,

The Ones Working in Low Wage Hospo & Labouring & Paying a Tonne For Rent-

i.e half the town & three quarters of the most visible town-walkers

These “most visible town-walkers” are not mining gold any more but are mining ‘experiences’.

But in Truth, the real reasons they are here – will only crystallise years later – after deep life introspection.

When ‘Old Father Time’ strips away all the smoke & haze & thus reality can emerge with perfect clarity.

Yes – here I am in the Pool Bar.

As an aging semi-life-experienced fella, I begun dishing out ‘how the world works’ epithets –

Which were lapped up by these scattered young men, who all pine for the fatherly & brotherly guidance,

That they probably, almost certainly never got.

I Of course, didn’t mind playing the role, as I played Pool & chugged the affordable beers.

But I ask you – what single, childless 45-year-old man wouldn’t?

He would & does for himself – and he helps heal some wounds as the by-product.

I mean it’s far easier & immediately rewarding AND entertaining than being

A a REAL DAD or even a Older Brother.

It Is All reward with ZERO risk.

The Pool night was short sharp & fun & over fast,

A few of us even talked about “If God Exists or not” topic.

Half agreed & Half didn’t.

I found the ratio quite surprising, for a town like this.

After the Pool Bar,The rest of the trip was just sleeping & waking to a semi officious voice:

“Are you living in your car”,

She said to me as I stood outside my car.

“No I live in the other town, I’m just up for a rest”, I said

“Oh ok we are filming a documentary on the housing crisis down here” – she said chirpilly.

“I don’t see it changing – unless they build totally new hermeticalluy sealed towns” I said.

“I think you’re right” she said.

I drove away & left the scene, realising how lucky I am these days.

For I begrudgingly must admit to myself,

I am now probably a ‘Have’ but was formerly a ‘Have Not’.

And I could now simply ‘drive out of it all’.

But the new age gold diggers & car sleepers here cannot do this –

& I ask ‘who will save them’?

It seems no one who is wedded to this earth is willing to.

because they are ok, & human nature is to be selfish –

& That, in a nutshell, is why suffering occurs in this world of bounty –

Millennia after millennia.

And maybe that problem is why, perhaps – I keep visiting.

A force compels me to ‘sneak away’ to the two-sided,

Spiritually Warfare’d,

Poorly Welfare’d

Ex Gold Mining,

‘Car Sleeping’

Escapist

Shiney

‘Bountified’

Two-Sided Town.