Public People - Linda Sacco

urbanart, Flush and Melbourne Fringe Festival 2002 present
young emerging writers pushing the boundaries in public space publishing

The CIRCLE is OPEN
No coins needed
No validation necessary
It just needed someone to listen
And watch along with it
The sights of the city
Drifting past like an ocean
Lurch forward
Find your footing
Take your place
Destination anywhere
Better than nowhere
Dismal outside
Cosy inside
Screech of stopping
The tide moves
Lights flicker
Bells ring
Music beats sound
Children read signs
Passengers mumble
The floor rumbles
No validation No discrimination

Office Works
The dotted orange lights spell out Werribee.
The artificial voice announces Melbourne Central station.
A duo of suited up men sit on opposite sides.
One is in a typical blue blazer and white shirt.
His tie is an assortment of many colours
The other is decked out in similar attire
The engine whirls loudly
The doors beep on their closure
They slam shut
The rustling of paper
The crunch of turning pages
Mobile phones ring
Murmurs of conversations begin
Over the rumble of the noise his froggy voice sounds clear
He bounces off lively conversation
He is, for now, in agreement
His head shakes and nods
When his companion's does
His gaze drifts to the other passengers
His smile widens to impact them
The topic shifts to driving
He fumbles through, complaining
His arms cross over his chest
The speed decreases
The recorded voice proclaims
Doors open
He glances to the ceiling
Then his eyes cast down
Conversation has run dry
He emerges a delicate friend-
His phone pressed to his ear
He eyes divert around
His expression reads, "Did they see that?"
"Are they watching me?"
As talk is regenerated
His face is alight is re-animated
He brushes a hand through messed up hair
Disappearing as time unravels
Past dinnertime
Who's waiting for him?
Perhaps at home there is no audience
Perhaps he is the office clown
Always joking, eager for friends
Desperate for his last hit before he has to go

Worlds Colliding
Attention passengers
Welcome to Melbourne Central Station
Says the artificial voice
Not one of them hears it
On a night like this
Old friends speak intimately
Standing close
There are no secrets
Another reads as if in his own world
Transported to another era
Where trains and exhaust aren't invented
When he looks up
Dragons and medieval castles will disappear
He'll see the man in the suit
Walking briskly
With one hand in his pocket
And the other gripping a casual backpack
One girl circles around me
Chatting in Vietnamese
Comforted perhaps that I don't understand
Her smile is conniving
What could she be talking about?
The voice snaps back
The train's appears
The platform empties
Ready for those who are to arrive
Worlds apart between them
Now worlds collide
Different time periods
Customary mobile phones
Safety and comfort between friends
All disappear into the same setting
Barriers between them up
Aided by personal comforts
Enables a feeling of somewhat safety
When worlds overlap
Underground

VIC MARKET
The parting of the RED sea
With the pull of the current
Through a mass of red sea
The last stone of their journey
Now being bid upon for tea
Tide tilts back travelers
The uncertain drift to the side
The determined wheel baggage
Lifeless structures hang alongside
The coins jingle
But the booming man won't see
In the midst of energy throbbing forward
Scent putrid
Sent death
A Rising Current
Swept away with the tide
The overpowering pitch of hoarse screams
A dizzy entrée of noise
Pulled by the current
Steered by overriding voices
Against the tide
The mouth exits
The air becomes fresh
The volume has subsided
Now I know of deaf