The Sound of Spitting

1 February 2018

it rises in school yards

of smashed-fruit afternoons
sun peeling back day’s dazed
in Shakespeare
and Pythagoras’s theorem
when two kids use sticks
to cast spells on each other’s shins
smelling the scent of piss
from some suburban Harry Potter’s

mid-week binge, brain battering
beneath the train bridge
a trolley rattling
in the Kmart Christmas extravaganza
or a battler pulling his last cone
and melting into re-runs of The Simpsons
i’m talking layman’s terms
the sound of spitting
how it is to be out here all free

amidst the BP fluorescent green
considering the sun as a razorblade

cutting through thin crust

as we sit at the water’s edge
and watch as we roll
like lorikeets opening locks
with their beaks

and leaving us as digital brumbies
to be rode through a golden soil sunset

and isn’t that just the way it is

English riding train carriages into obscurity

only to get lost in that giant apricot
sitting on the lawn
or if that is just it, to wonder
as an Illawarra train sings
the Average Joe electric

breaking the windows
of the most religiously
worshipped Westfield

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