1

Three UK years & a day long haul

to hear it strange: the Heathrow tongue

stretched flat at Kingsford-Smith

dessicated as Mascot lawns look;

fruit coughed up in DECLARE IT FOR AUSTRALIA

quarantine stalls recompressing feet

lop-sided on an interrogative lilt

& customs explanations don’t sound

pat – I’m through ARRIVALS the turnout

mambo in fruitsalad & lorikeet as if

history stops with carnivale & the state casino;

or sensing a poem here has to include bingo

jism & guilt; that it should clear a throat,

colloquial as currawongs: their call.


2

Cheap eat café hairs of the dog

the beach takes a bunsen

to eyestrain sand, crinklecut, whitehot

as blonde dyke glamorama crewcuts

do sushi: I didn’t inhale,

watched skaters blade the promenade

backed by spraycan art & overlooking

a kilometre of lightly salted

skins we’re delicious! Can I sting you

to wet each the other, bright as a diamanté

navel stud front reflecting at speed?

How mindful of self-aware, critical spins

on body-piercing we culminated nowhere

near the un‘important’ water, avoided junk.


3

Did flying south outstrip the blue pencil

granted we’re easy with an either-handed grip

being unrapped? Anything goes local style

in your face as Parramatta Road billboards

that’s the myth, struthious as gritted teeth

& eyes from wound-down windows. A ‘68

careers not past being druckfucked from the zoo

at western plains, they’re culling private demons,

angels had it with petrol fumes. Sirens

squeal at lanehog rush approaches to

the Cahill’s obligatory harbourscape:

at its fore & aft juncture less like sails than

buttocks rising from a fussy hem, operatic

prelude to dunk me, take me brash.