Lake Illawarra, 7 September 2018
the long flat – gone to white
ring of hills process through blue, grey, black —
bright enough for one small life.
tidal through the narrows
oh come all you fishies, beat on my lure
– flat head, bull shark, black fish.
far from kiosk, boat ramp
fat blokes crowd families into tinnies
sputting props chew oyster trash.
mythos calls – astride the pillars of Hercules –
one-eyed I hurl boulders at thieving Jason
and all the Argo’s yes-men.
day’s done dark coming on
(so soon) lights bend and flex, columns
converge to a single bright
kids on the bikepath, (so close)
tutelary lake spirit – what’d I say? –
don’t backchat your mum, cigarette’s a waste of money.
a step on the tide and I’d walk right out,
empty the lake, I’d be whistling down
mud flats, shopping carts, weed beds, car parts.
but hapless / faithless I stand
quietly drowning – feet, knees, waist,
my arms tremble your embrace.
the phone in my hand, a low glow on the infra-red
across the water comes the rollicking crew.