Pre-heatwave Interlude

By | 12 March 2021


They say the world sleeps
but this is rarely true for people
the white noise traffic lingers eternal
drowned by morning rituals
of turtle doves and lorikeets
perpetual feuding with mynahs.

The cool breeze isn’t quite awake
drags its dusty feet through the grass
its hands through leaves
the smell of bacon heavy on its yawning breath.
Yet somehow,
it has energy enough to carve mountains
into a faded grey depression-blanket sky.


The stench of uncleaned skip bins
Stalks the day with an axe and a smile.
Lorikeets gossip above
perpetually angry about something
their discarded seeds
This yard is a jungle of too-long grass and wild trees
the perfect hunting ground.
Mosquitos declare me their victim
until blood spatter patterns
line my legs and arms.
I sound the retreat.


Parents yelling at their children
is as close to a choral performance
as this town gets.
One family shouts a symphony
perfected over months,
the next begins in the momentary lull
until the sounds of dysfunction interweave
with the screech and blare of enraged traffic.

The grey blanket sky has been battered by the heat
wisps of cotton all that remain.
The never-enough breeze has calmed
still wearing garbage like cologne
enthusiastically applied before a date
no one actually wanted to go on.

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