I spent the day scrutinising figures-
Six hours and seventy-four near-naked bodies.
Armed with pencil, notebook, and Chimmey's blueberry friand
It was a case of them and us; us and the Others; eagle-eyed vs cellulite-free.
Trying to maintain composure at this virgin model casting,
A near-impossibility in the tin-roofed enclosure.
Giggled as they fiddled with the unfilled pouches.
Laughed out loud as they wore things back to front.
Gawked as the aqua-marine eyes aimed intently at nothing.
I tried to behave.
There could have been worse things to be doing in the stifling heat.

The sun, an inauspicious red glow
Suspended against an anemic summer sky.
The Northern fiery has left a film of patchy residue on my toy car,
An eyesore even to me.
These images have haunted the front page at breakfast table.
I've reserved my thoughts, what can I say that would make it better?

I'd allocated Saturday for family obligations.
42-degree, sticky, unforgiving Saturday.
The kind of day tempers are short and energy levels even shorter.
Lunch at Aka Tombo with mum-
A soothing blend of Japanese bossa nova and Asahi beer.
2 hats for the special bento,
Mallow gourd broth, unagi still moist in its juices, delicate reisling-tinted fruit salad.
Promised dad we'd see Andy Bey.
Well-timed sets, casual seating (thankfully), a handshake and autographed sleeves.
It was nice night,
Despite the ridiculous weather, dishwashing liquid gin, and stern bassist.

Omens of bees and dusky mornings,
Things are changing,
I am changing.

xxx

Removed from the urgency
I watched as the winged stingers orbited the Acland-Barkly intersection.
It was a fascinating sort of pallor;
Reservations of personal unease.
And as they churned and churned
Finally depositing to rest,
The afternoon shone through again.

xxx

It's the season of the fires.
In this crackling dry
Charred leaves flew down South.
The sky was lit a Mexican orange
Driving to work it felt like sunset.

xxx

I've watched the fig tree grow.
Pregnant with fruit - Fruitless - Leafless - Bare - Buds - Lush - Pregnant with fruit.
Have you, too, kept vigil while I grew?
Not one for subtle waves
I've noticed only when things were too changed to change.

xxx

Barely recovered from recent misadventure,
I hurtled into another wager.

The car smelt of last night's soiree,
Sour whisky and vomit.
Fighting to be glad to leave this 13-degree summer morning behind,
I sit silent and sullen.

We are greeted by a suffocating viscosity in the air.
After eighty-three round-abouts we get to the hotel.
It's Christmas day and all good restaurants are closed.
We walk three-quarters of an hour to join some old folks around a seafood buffet.

The heat I can handle.
But humidity makes me disagreeable.

We drive the hour to Port Douglas.
The sprays of vermillion and green waters calm me.
Here we sit by the beach littered with seaweed, the amber rays mellowing gracefully.
Here we feed fish prawn-heads and drink warm white wine.
We linger for hours, talking.
Here I guide you through your first double espresso,
And you roll peeled lychees into my hand.

We fly away from city madness
To promised beauty.

Laughing through devil-may-care days,
The heat wilting our pluck.
Yet there is a real-ness
In the smiles.