The Belle #1

I stand at the side of the stage 
with a bag of peanuts 
                               and all 
I can say is, “Here, these peanuts 
are for you. I only wish that 
they were diamonds.” 
All the girls fall for me, even though 
              my French is obscene. 
For you, I replay the act 
here I stand again, at the 
                       side of the stage 
offering you non-extant diamonds 
a bag of peanuts in your hand 
                       and all 
you can say is that 
you can’t eat a bag of diamonds. 
                       And though I insist 
                       that you could buy 
                       a whole lot of peanuts 
you reply that you already have 
                                  a whole lot 
right there in your hand. 
             I am Fred Astaire 
             and my heart just went whoops. 
             My French is improving. I want to 
             tap-dance my way 
                                  into your history. 

The Belle #2

I promise that I will do 
anything for you, a hard day’s work 
             So I am a postie for 
Western Union, but I crash my 
bicycle through a shopfront 
                          I am 
a garbage man, collecting 
scraps from the sidewalk 
                     but I stumble 
                     and collect 
a fruit-cart with my broom 
                          whistling de–doo-oo-oo 
like a turtledove. I am 
a trolley driver where I love the work 
because you are my 
only passenger. I never slow the 
                     trolley, just wave for 
the people 
who always wave back, have been 
                     all day long. I leave the trolley 
                     moving, scoop you up like pink 
                     ice-cream. Whisk you on-board. 

The Belle #3

They say that 
seeing is believing, and 
I cannot bring myself to see 
God. There should be a law 
against you sexy Salvation 
Army girls. I dance on the 
over the self-raised skyline 
of Manhattan. I throw 
                    my top-hat 
and beg for my salvation 
with a devillish smile, and 
the attitude 
               tomorrow, tomorrow. 
                           I rule 
a line across the stars 
               with my cigarette. 
               The view 
is stupendous. Our romance 
blown away. I am just another bum 
                     Gonna be a dancin’ man 
                leave my footprints on the sands 
                     of time, in rhythm 
                     and rhyme. I drink 
                     too much wine. I 
                     drink too much wine. 


There is a hole when I look up 
from the table to see 
               that you are gone. 
The tiny indentations left 
in our forearms 
across sugar crystals 
in a time when a single 
was a large enough prospect 
for us to meet, for 
my look 
to be taken up. Now 
the sugar is what it is. It is 
packets. Packeted 
heaped teaspoons and their 


Adam Stewart has an Honours in English and a BA in Music Studies Composition from Victoria University. This year he wrote a book of poetry for his MA in Creative Writing at the IIML.


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