Adonis is not in Delphi but on the corner of my street.

In my most recent mortal manifestation as an unobtrusive,

pleasant looking woman of middle years,

I was walking my dog along the track to Parramatta  filled with noisy chariots,

 A man was suddenly beside me,

in a blur I noticed only his spreading body,

his curly fair hair and a face that was marred by whatever ailed him.

He slurred at me: ‘Are you taking the dog for a walk or is he taking you?’

As he asked this cliched rhetorical question,he lunged at me managing to poke the soft part of  my chest 

 with his outstretched index finger.Hardly a brutal attack but his leery physical contact was most unwelcome.

I moved away as he tried to grab my arm. A kick to his belly, so swift it was invisible to the naked eye,had him doubling in pain on the ground.

‘What’s wrong? ‘ I asked innocently.

‘My ulcer’s giving me hell today,’ he answered. A wave of my hand had him standing up.

‘Ah that’s better.’ He looked at me and I stared back until he lowered his eyes and shuffled away.

Where was my nostalgic compassion of yesterday? Fortunately it returned later in my walk.

I was nearing home passing the local Asian shop at the corner of my street.

 On impulse I entered. The cook was inside the kitchen. I eyed the menu and noticed a Burmese curry. The cook emerged to take my order. Dark hair and skin, round face and fine features, and one eye. One eye, that is, that could look at you. This eye was alive and intelligent. The other eye struggled to keep in synch with its mate.

He smiled at me and spoke politely as he took my order.

As he did the damaged eye disapeared into its socket while the other lengthened and twinkled at me.

Waiting for my Burmese curry with my dog sitting quietly beside me, I wondered what his good eye had witnessed back home in his benighted country. 

Then I saw him standing on a hillside watching his village burning.He was a handsome youth with beautiful black eyes then filled with tears. Later I saw him again. His  gouged eye hidden behind a makeshift  blood stained bandage, while his other eye told the story of his torture.

He was calling me to the counter. ‘Your curry is ready.’  My dog and I went over to get it.

 ‘He’s a good dog,  he follows you everywhere,’ he said smiling again and nodded in approval.

 I smiled back at this Burmese Adonis and  turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.