Published in Overland Issue 205 Summer 2011 · Uncategorized One February or July DJ Huppatz Calling out in an underground parking garage in Ottawa or Montreal, but I tell you no-one was lost. At least I wasn’t. Then how was it we ended up on St Kilda beach later that morning, a gypsy bar that afternoon, while all the disenchanted world worked? “You can fly you know”. The gulls blinked – they’re used to such profundity and listened attentively. We gorged on sunlight impounded in Indonesian mangos as the ocean sculpted a sign legible only to two. But when the little one said roll over, it was hard to recall when we were young and no-one followed those tight silk pants but my hands. The temples are waiting, let them. I could clean the bathroom but there’s no sense setting the record straight. You know, it’s a long way to buy a decent key lime pie, we should just make one here. And a couple of mojitos. DJ Huppatz D J Huppatz is a Melbourne-based writer who has had poetry published recently in VLAK 2 (2011) and Black Inc.’s The Best Australian Poems 2011. More by DJ Huppatz › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 25 November 202425 November 2024 · Reviews Poetic sustenance: a close reading of Ellen van Neerven’s “Finger Limes” Liliana Mansergh As a poem attuned to form, embodiment, sensory experience and memory, van Neerven’s “Finger Limes” presents an intricate meditation on poetic sustenance and survival. Its riddling currents exemplify how poetry is not sustained along a linear axis but unfolds in eddies and counter currents. 22 November 202422 November 2024 · Fiction A map of underneath Madeleine Rebbechi They had been tangled together like kelp from the age of fourteen: sunburned, electric Meg and her sidekick Ruth the dreamer, up to all manner of sinister things. So said their parents; so their teachers reported when the two girls were found down at the estuary during a school excursion, whispering to something scaly wriggling in the reeds.