Blue sails in the backyard
the fitted sheet billows
like a spinnaker
and the clothesline turns
on its centreplate
I daydream of
an afternoon sailing
on the Swan River
and the cool of
a yacht club bar
Like shags off pylons
two ibis fly off fence posts
as a thirsty cow in
the sun-dried paddock
complains plaintively
Black crows all tell her
there's no barman here
to serve a cold one
this mob all gone
to Derby Rodeo
… as I shake my head
and unpeg the washing
my wife's black knickers
start another line of thought
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