Eva Collins : Photographs and Writing

Words

Déjà-Vu

In 1958, my aunt in Poland
gave me a postcard
of Drysdale’s ‘Moody’s Pub’.
‘That’s where you’re going,’
she said and winced.

I wasn’t thrilled.

These men were skinny
had thin lips shady hats
and leaned on the verandah
of an outback pub.

When we arrived,
I looked for such men.
But where were they?

I guessed the ones
I saw were all New Comers.
I felt a little cheated.

Twenty years later
at a country pub,
sipping gin and tonic on a cool verandah,
I saw a group of men
saunter to the bar.

They wore skin-tight jeans
and broad-brimmed hats.
A cigarette hung from the corner of every mouth.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ I called,
‘You’ve been lost and found!’


The men paused,
trying to figure me out .

I told them my story,
and said I forgave them for wearing sun glasses.

‘No worries,’ they laughed,
‘Wannabeer?’

Eva Collins