Anzac Stills

The one-armed man, jogging
early on the Anzac morning
by the Dolphin Swimming headquarters
as I restored recycling stations,
fulfilling them their emptiness,
his Accidentally Beautiful
shores my loopy-portal
to this world of comedy, this dark And,
the crushing slap-stick; further back,
the same spoof performed
as I was entering the Garden
of our Memories to access
more rubbish bins, a flip-top green
in plastic, young soldiers, from the barracks,
were erecting tents around the re-pinned cenotaph
shaken off its plinth ha ha that night
the Earthquake’s rotund bear-ness
stumbled like a man who hides his queerness
hibernating though awake
until one hundred million snakes
are released in one unbelted poor decision
and he spills his inhibitions
in this comedy of Monarchies and men
of foreign gods. The un-armed running man,
his stump was like a sausage
with the skin tucked in, tied off
and sealed…the other arm was grabbing little
handfuls of air to keep his balance.
I should write a passage here, a linking line,
an image, so the comedy aligns, but on
we drive now in our Holden ute
with the flashing orange roof light
to the final bins, by the toilets
perfect with their ease-of-cleaning floors
and corridor-like length
from seat to heavy door
with the stainless steel strip
to guard against the scuff marks
soles leave helping us with doors
where I watch the Chinese tourists,
photographing seals recharge their solar panels
on the board walk built by the Lion’s volunteers,
and they maybe don’t know why the sign is
saying: Keep Your Distance …Many Seal, perhaps
a storm is readying?

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