1

The minarets of Auburn’s mosque

are topped by shining metal cones.

Calm, early afternoon–
Dirk Hartog bangs a nail

through the sky’s pewter dish.
Land the colour of dried sponge,

razor grass–a white flame

sputters in the wind.


2

Fences fall like theatre

props. Mount Druitt expands,

LA obsessed cars
stretched by the tar’s

tightening belt
where in-between houses

hover in heat:

Speer the architect.


3

The carriage judders

the glaze from

a passenger’s eyes;
and Rita thinks of fame,

can almost roll
that kernel beneath her tongue:

a signature song that could shake

any audience to its feet.


4

Instead she scans

newspaper reports

that read as obits:
Delta lady achieved her fame

in duets with Kris.
Under her breath she croons

watching the Nepean’s algal blooms

from the sluggish, half-full train.


5

She knows the audience loves

her casual dress

as much as her songs.
The way she flicks her skirt the way

young arsonists flick a match
to thunderous applause.