At the Valley
in China Town
stands a man alone
with half a smile in his lips
and with a bunch of pens
in each hand.
He has a laminated placard
over his chest
held by a string round his neck.
Please help me
survive.
I am unemployed
but I'm not giving up.
Pens for $2.Ä
The passers-by look away
or ignore the clenched fist of pens
and I, no less guilty,
skirt round the pillar to avoid the man
holding his own in Fortitude Valley.
I'm sorry,
I whisper to myself;
when I find a job I'll be kind.
I don't look back
as I flee,
leaving him to stand alone
like an aside in a play
and just as important.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
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