POVERTY: What is it?
By Mari Hefferan
‘I am poor,’ said the pensioner. By today’s standards I’m poor. But I am O.K. I have a good family who help out, and great friends. There are plenty worse off than me. Take my best mate. Like me he’s a pensioner, but he has no family and he’s not well, poor beggar. I’m the only person who seems to care about him now. He’s all nerves and his memory’s shot to pieces. Losing his marbles he is. Sad thing is he was quite famous once. Harry Benson, Australian middle weight boxing champ and he played rugby for this country too. Now nobody remembers him. Only me. Poor Harry’s a lot poorer than me.
***********
‘I never thought I’d admit it but, compared with my friends I am quite poor,’ sighed the nurse at the end of a weary shift. ‘Bill and I have four kids to educate. He’s a public servant but he does contract work now and I worry that if he can’t get a new contract in a year’s time I’ll be the sole provider for our family. That’s why I do shift work. It’s hard on the family, but it pays better. A funny thing happened this morning though. When the baby sitter arrived Fanny, that’s our baby daughter, held out her arms to the sitter and called her Mummy. I felt like crying. I wish I could be with my kids more.’
************
‘I might have to sell the house and rent. Another interest rate rise and my salary will be stretched beyond the limit. Being a single parent is a struggle from one pay cheque to the next. I don’t want to sell. Our home is the one stable thing the children and I have in our lives. Well maybe that’s not quite true. I love my kids and they love me but our home means more to us since my marriage break-up. At present I live in hope.
*************
‘We hate renting. It’s such a waste of money when you’re trying to save. We can’t seem to get ahead and houses are so expensive. We’ve thought of moving to one of the outer suburbs but we are near our work here and petrol is so dear. Added to that, we’d be moving away from our friends. You know it’s ages since I bought anything for myself. I’d love a new dress. For my birthday, my best friend Jenny gave me a tiny bottle of “Chloe”. It’s a beautiful perfume. I used to buy it when I was single. Dear Jenny. She’s so kind’.
*************
‘I don’t know what I’d do without the Salvos and St Vinnies. I hated going there for help but Meg and I had to think of the kids. It’s terrible being poor but it’s worse feeling poor. Seeing Megan and the kids looked after made me feel a whole lot better. You know we didn’t have any food to put on the table. This farm’s been in the family for four generations. It was a beautiful place when I was a kid. Green and fertile. We ran sheep as well as growing wheat. Had a few calves too. It hasn’t rained properly for years. The creek stopped running last year and the dams are dust bowls. God, why won’t it rain?’
************
‘What is poverty, my father?’
‘Poverty, my son, is when you have nothing to eat and nowhere to shelter.’
‘Is it like when the tsunami came, my father, and washed away our house, and my mother and our baby drowned and I was so hungry and thirsty too. Was that poverty?’
‘Yes, my son, that was poverty. It’s when you have nothing: no food, no water, no shelter and no-one to care about you. That’s poverty. Just like when the tsunami came and took everything. I could not find you at first and I thought I had lost you. Then I lost hope. But when I found you, my son, I found hope again. We are still poor, but we have hope.’
Poor
By Chris Wren
It struck me, as I strode the street
In reverie, and flight of feet
That in my heart was birthed a treasure
Recognized, and without measure
Flooding every part of me
Well – all the parts you cannot see
So – disregard the tattered clothes
For I am counted amongst those
Who, while the outward fades away
The secret, inward life can say
I’m rich beyond my wildest dreams
I live apart. Or so it seems.
So when I hear the idle chatter
All of things that never matter
Bureaucrats, who having said
“Listen mate, I’ve seen your plight
You’re guaranteed – a bed tonight
Be sharing with the other men
Not too many – nine or ten
We’re trying to tidy up the streets
And parks. The benches and the seats.
What’s that you say – you like the park?
You cant be real – its cold and dark.”
I held his gaze for far too long
He doesn’t know I don’t belong
In safe locked rooms, all tucked up tight
All barred and padlocked for the night
And so I lie upon the beach
The palest moon just out of reach
My richest treasures close to me
The earth the sky the moon the sea.
Poverty
By Bron Trathen
In the gathering darkness he can just see the outline of a figure at the side of the road: arm out, thumb up. Jim Holden slows and stops 50 metres past the figure.
He leans over and opens the door on the passenger’s side.
The hitchhiker, heaving after his sprint to the car, ‘Thanks…you going South?’
Holden leans towards the door: ‘Sure am…all the way to Melbourne. Hop in.’
Settling himself into the comfortable leather seats, Mark soaks in the luxurious interior.
‘Nice vehicle.’
‘Yeh, 0 to 100 in 10 seconds, 3400rpm… an just out of the show room.
‘Cool…’
‘Thought I’d give it a good run in an’…visit my son.’
Mark glances at the man at the wheel…large, obviously likes his food…stylish clothes. ‘…Ahh…bit of a drive ahead of you, then.’
‘That’s why I like company…How far you going?’ Holden stretches out his well-manicured hand and switches up the heating.
‘Just an hour down the road…thanks.’
In the silence that follows the two strangers listen to the hummmmmm of the car engine and feel the warm air round their feet. Outside, there’s still a silvery light in the winter sky ahead.
Holden breaks the silence. ‘Do a lot of hitching along this road?’
Naa! Not really…’ Mark shifts in his seat. ‘I was up in Brisbane…had to see some people…’
‘No car?’ Holden gives Mark a quizzical look.
‘Oh…it needs a bit of work…back home.’
‘So you live…not far from here…is it?’
Mark looks at Holden. He is about to say something then ‘…Oh.’ He twists in his seat and stretches out his hand. ‘…the name’s Mark, Mark Lessing.’
‘Ah…sorry. Holden…James Holden.’
Mark withdraws his hand and continues ‘…Mary, my wife and I…and our three kids live a little inland from the next village. You can’t miss it…’
Holden with his eyes on the road, ‘So what keeps you in this part of the world?’
‘Well…haven’t always lived here…’ Mark absentmindedly fingers the strap on his backpack. ‘Used to have…a business up at Coolangatta…got into bit’v strife…guy owed me a bucket…and didn’t pay up…’ He paused staring at road ‘Oh…then Mellie…that’s what we call her…her name’s Melleni. Well…she got real sick. Oh…you know how it is. One thing led to another and then the Bank…’ He trails off.
Holden sits in silence looking ahead.
‘Mary…she’s amazing…was her idea…to move to the mountain. Oh, its not really a mountain. It’s what we call it…and we have great views. We’ve got two caves…an’ that keeps the rain out. It’s a b...a bit cold in the winter…’
Holden looks across at the dishevelled guy with his well-worn shoes.
‘How long you been living in the bush?’
Mark looks up with a slightly uncomfortable expression. ‘About 2 years.’
Th-the family’s been great. The kids love it…an..and Mary’s created a absolute paradise.’
After a pause Mark gives a wry laugh. ‘Eh! life’s like a box of chocolates…”
He looks at Holden. ‘And you got family…James?’
Holden tightens his grip on the wheel but keeps his eyes on the road. ‘Yeh, Jack’s 24…he’s in Melbourne. Haven’t seen him for 10 years…and Annie, the younger, she’s a bit of an adventurer…don’t know where she is…somewhere in Africa, I think… Haven’t seen Ellen…their Mum...for…ah!…well on 20 years.’ Glancing in Mark’s direction. ‘So, your kids like the bush…lots of freedom…big back yard.’
'Yehhh…Toby, my 12 year old…he decided he wanted to get down the mountain quicker…so… you know what he did?’
Holden looks at him and smiles.
Mark becomes quite animated. ‘Well, he took over my workshop…I do a lot of things with my hands…carpentry most…Anyway, he sort’ve made these.… You remember years ago the things kids would play with…the pogo stick.’
Holden nods.
‘He made these springs to put on the bottom of his shoes… and it’s amazing…they work. You should see him take off. …You in business, James?
‘I do a lot of travelling.’
‘What’s your business?’
Holden thinks for a moment before speaking. ‘Oh, finance.’
‘Finance! Oh, that’s where I’ve been…thought I’d see if we could get some money to develop Toby’s idea. They said they’d get back to me’. Mark fiddled with his strap for a few seconds. ‘I guess we just wait and see.’
Holden sees lights of a service station up ahead. ‘Is this the village coming up?’
Mark, putting his backpack on his lap. ‘Yeah, this is it. Thanks. Thanks mate.’
Holden slows and pulls in to the BP. As they stop, he takes a card from the dashboard. ‘Look, Mark, here’s my contact details. Let me know how you go with your project.’
‘Thanks a lot.’ Mark gets out, walks round the front of the car, and holds out his hand as Holden gets out. ‘Hope you enjoy your time in Melbourne with your son, James.’
‘Thanks.’ Holden shakes his hand and then turns to the bowser, and Mark, with his backpack over his right shoulder, walks across the road into the night.
Holden gets back into his car, just as the mobile rings. ‘Holden…. Guy! How’re things?’
The voice on the other end is brash. ‘Listen, Jim. Those transport stocks need to be off loaded straight away.’
Holden, ‘Okay, whatever you think.’
‘Jim. Look there’s something I think you should look at.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I think this is going to be real big… I…I think we can make a hit in China…’
‘Spit it out…’
‘I’ve been talking to marketing guys…we need a gimmick for kids. They’re shoes with springs.
‘ Oh!...
‘Yehhh! Well, we need to develop the prototype yet.’
‘How much you thinking?’
‘ A few mil…’
‘When do you think we’d get a return?’
‘Couple of years…’
‘MMMMmmmm….I’ll think about it.’
‘Jim, you going to Hong Kong this week to talk turkey with Hilder?’
Holden is silent for a while.
‘Jim…”
‘Mate, you go. I’m going to spend a bit’ve time with Jack.’
‘I need an answer on the Spring shoes within 48 hours. I’ll send you the details. Jim?’
‘You’ll hear from me…Bye.. Guy.’ Holden closes his mobile and stares into his rear vision mirror. There is nothing, just blackness. He clicks the CD over and settles himself into his comfortable leather seat. ‘I wonder what Jack’s interested in these days’ he says out loud.
Poor (2)
by Chris Wren
Poor? Not really
Destitute perhaps
“Without visible means of support”
A collapsed building
Falling to oblivion
Where truth comes at last
In a forgotten land.
And truth is treasure.
Therefore I am rich
But never poor
Not talking “Calcutta” poor
Not “drunks under bridge” poor
Just an acknowledgement
A bereftness
Somehow lacking
Not quite all there
And certainly not by design or plan
But more the boat’s gently nudging the shore
And coming home
For the minute.
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