three
sun bakers
a
Sydney morning herald story
of
the beach in peril and the press at a distance
baking nothing
but the brains inside the heads
is what I read
degradation of the press
now that’s a topic for the new year
but I digress
three sun bakers and not a lot of bread
one tent six ropes a
lady (not a man)
to trip on that unreasonably long
guide rope
tripping ladies make the blood boil
(then go a light brown)
after all it is
a beach story
bread butter sand
that grit between my teeth
sparking the electricity on the mercury
fillings and still
the mercury up high
raising the ire
rising
what about the olden days
kid
heads the shape
of beachballs
the esky
the lazyboy
fairy bread
the daisy pole umbrella
it got taken by
the strong onshore breeze
and cartwheeled
until it stabbed a surfer through the
giblets
I want that back
be that Sydney
blue-striped tent people you
shit me to tears and
it is too crowded
this is all I can do
to express the way
it is
to say
some of us
must move
or die
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