Peter Skrzynecki Poems

My gentle father
Kept pace only with the Joneses
Of his own mind's making -
Loved his garden like an only child,
...

1
Many slept on deck
Because of the day's heat
Or to watch a sunset
...

1949


1
Tired, embittered,
wary of each other—
like men whose death sentences
have been commuted,
...

He rode the red dust roads as a kid
in a billycart built from a fruitbox
along with other kids like himself
who lived on hope and laughter—
...

I must be less
than eighteen months old—
naked, in my mother's arms,
face pressed against hers
...

for Gillian Mears

In Basho's house
there are no walls,
no roof, floors
or pathway—
nothing to show
...

Impossible not to see them
once you cross the railway bridge
and enter Memorial Avenue—
the rows of red trees
along the cemetery's perimeter:
...

My father's "Arbeitskarte"
or Work Card
is the only surviving document
that I have
...

I wonder what my parents
would say knowing
my poems and short stories
...

He has grown tired
of the clichéd
pronunciation of his name—
countering
...