It was a new town
I was the only normie there, In the back street, bright, Newtown cafe, A Gen X sociological expedition To neo queer twenties coolness: Black combat boots and hard chopped fringes, Swaggering blue jeans under tartan scarves, Fresh camo shorts and stout moustaches, And unironic cable knits in forest greens. Tall boys in cool white tees just short Of short shorts, Peruvian Llama Coats, Fresh dyed hair black and sharply stark Above yanked high, tight white socks. Eighties tribute sneakers in highlight colours Of forties cars, and dark blue velour Elasticated pants for shorter, older First time mums, shining their navy at me. Large, ornate plastic gold buckles On old-man leather slip-ons for a girl — Or a boy — hiding glum face and school spots Under dull grey, dwarfing headphones, Sporting not quite Adidas go-fast stripes Along new vintage soft black tracksuit pants: Laptop engrossed and sagely nursing Their first transparent dirty chai. Tall, skinny, scruffy dudes in effortless Black caps, vibrating like new cellos In the long kitchen, to a soundtrack Of Aussie old god Melbourne guitar rockers, Cooling even the Sydney winter sun. How do you make unpolished concrete And beige walls cool? With octopus sized Magnolias climbing out of giant, clear Beer glass cylinders; with all black uniforms Of cryptic tee-shirt messages from found bottles, And half zippered hoodies blamelessly Draped on sapling beard, man boy staff; With generous splashes of seventies Truck-stop stickers on the Bakertop, Minus the tits (I looked): Honk if you're listening to cold beer In Petersham, drive me nuts tooth and nail, Fucking awesome creative director! And only room for one lost envoy Of the taupe scrunch shorts, ath-fem brigade. By the end I felt an imposition On their temperate, novel culture: The wrongness of my uncoolness Unapparent to them because Theirs was a communion of acceptance, Warm, smiling and gently unenforced. I was not even a nineties intrigue, Just an old scribbler near their coffee sun.

