1.

A group
of bronze teens
are partying
under an
unclouded day moon
facing off
a clouded sun
in the corona
pandemic.

Making complicit
an eroding sea cliff
whose cliff strengthening
is paused
with witches hats.

Their boom box
almost whispering.

They look
huddled, wavering
in the unspoken
uncertainty
that they are
potentially
doing something
catastrophically
wrong.

2.

Further down
the stretch of beach,
water closed
because of four metre
great whites
attracted
by a rotten whale
quartered
into a truck
only a day ago,
a white family
of three
stand vigil.

Dressed in their
best scarves
with chests
proudly puffed.
Their best
Lowes coats.
Even having
broken feud
with the
unpaid hound
race debts
of the bristled
uncle.

A scrap
of the carcass that
made the panel
on The Project
or just
a fin
of one of the
great whites
that dwarf
speed boats.

As though
the sole guests
of a jubilant wake
or the only three
secretly ushered
to attend
a hidden
NRL grand final
with scalped
tickets.

Read the rest of Overland 244

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