Sliding into Sydney

When we were young
we watched incan­des­cent flick­er­ing images
of people rising like a sea from train stations,
koy­aan­isqatsi in the Val­halla cinema
on Glebe Point Road late at night
and we swore we would never become
one of these face­less creatures
on escal­at­ors, on crosswalks,
mooch­ing to jobs in dim air­less offices.

We were determ­ined to be kecak
sing­ers rock­ing in jungles,
hip­pies dig­ging our own vegetables,
late night intel­lec­tu­als with coffee
and gui­tars in Seattle cafés forever.

But it is cold and here we are back
in a chilly Sydney morn­ing crossing
from Cent­ral to the bus stop at UTS
along with 100 other workers;
the lights change and we move as one
off the kerb.

Speed us up and we will be the same
as those flick­er­ing beings
from 30 years ago
because this much does­n’t change,
not here, not that quickly at least.