Sitting Alone in Sydney with the Citibank Logo

shining down, the only face i recognise because
my dad used to bank there, or something, before
we got divorced. upturned in the water, it smiles at
me and i’m grateful, i could do with a friend.

what am i doing here? i am alone with the citibank logo,
and i have spent the day alone, walking around not too
dissimilar streets and looking upon not too dissimilar
people, regular people without the charge of recognition.

and now i am here, by the water, with the citibank logo
and tall buildings standing up, apostles of drunk industry
and cameras going off to record this moment a thousand
times for the thousands of regular people getting something
different from this exact same moment.

by the sea life centre there is a hen party and by the
subway there is a couple sitting entwined and looking down
into the water that reflects the lights, the sky, the citibank logo.
and i think about tomorrow and what i am doing here, with
the inevitability and impossibility of finding a job, and i wonder
if there is anything out there speaking to me, or just the flash
of cameras marking the passing of time.

i wonder if i were to walk, would i find the one person waiting
for me? would they understand things in the same way i can’t?
would they smile upon me like the high, benign citibank logo,
that looks too winkingly simple for all that brought it about?

i get up and walk and consider getting a drink, not too sure
if i’m being ripped off or not, and i think about writing down
how i feel now later on and how it seems so self important,
so much like the need for another regular picture of you outside
an over duplicated landmark when postcards are $1/three.

and after another not quite pint, i wonder how long you have
to look at something before it becomes yours, how long you
have to be somewhere before it’s charged with recognition.
because really everything’s not so dissimilar, under this paternal
skyscraper, as familiar as the home i never had.

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