Hard to be deep in a Sydney summer.
Kids at the Cronulla surf carnival slash at the water while
a pod of dolphins refuses to worry.
Unburdened planes take off –
they’re all empty because no one is leaving this.
Even I have energy & the water fountain
is sponsored by ANSTO.
Each evil will die sooner or later than me,
I look up as the fish applaud.
Regrets have the crusty veracity of scabs.
Why didn’t I ever keep a real job? I
could have started a cult, was
a half-good railworker for a while.
but near the coast
but I was never social.
In my head
life & decay metastasise equally, something
akin to justice
before a jury of gulls.