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 crushing slap-stick;
& further back, the same spoof
performed as I was entering the Garden
of our Memories
to access rubbish bins,
a flip-top green in plastic,
young soldiers, from the barracks,
were erecting tents around
the newly re-pinned cenotaph
shaken off its plinth ha ha
that night the Earthquake’s rotund bearness
stumbled like a man who hides his queerness
hibernating though awake
until his 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 hallow fields of poppies,
and portals, and mediSin quarterlies.

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 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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