Eternal Examination

Her voice was golden, full of kookaburras, kangaroos.
She'd taken a two year break to globetrot, but had come
only as far as Scotland where she'd had to pause
and get a job - as well as studying. That's further than
Earl's Court, I pointed out. By then I had her pinned
phonetically to the map, down to the proper coast.

Curtin's in Western Australia, in the other Perth,
the gilded one, with emerald surf from Indonesia,
a haunt of gold prospectors, convicts, cricketers,
a sanctuary for the pygmy wallaby, the rat-like quokka.
Suppers consist of beer, blue marlin, barracuda.
The youth, in rubber caps, is seven foot tall.

I went to Sydney once, I volunteered. (Soon after
Captain Cook - 100 years ago. But I imagine things
must have changed since then, around the golden
fringe of Botany Bay.) I checked her ID card and photograph,
her name - Kylie Michelle - her student number: 9539171,
her date of birth: December '81. O Holy Christ. Sweet Jesus.

Sweet, holy Mother Mary. Could it be possible
she was so young, this golden voyager, this lithe
antipodean savouring the Old World in anticipation
of the new, right at the outset of her golden odyssey?
My older self, nostalgic, waxed oracular.
You have three hours, I said. You may begin. Good luck.

Norman Bissett