Sunday, March 18, 2012


From a drunken cruise on the harbour
comes a bouncing melody: I wanna
have sex on the beach. You can

see it on everyone’s (anyone’s)
mind as the summertime trees nod assent
in the Botanic Gardens,

their scent wafting up to the nostrils
of skyscrapers breathing in fumes,
pumping out bucks,

relaying UV to the ant-sized joggers
who bound up and down along the shoreline
on sand grains jostling for legroom.

Above them, birds, checking out the goods
of a small grey woman staring at the bridge,
thinking: I wanna walk across water

like sound, as her skin remembers a distant 
prickling, another season,
a sun and a wind that lifts her hairs.

(published in Overland, 2012)