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
shored my loopy-portal
to this world of comedy, this
dark & crushing slap-stick
and further back, the same spoof
performed as I was entering
the Gardens planted as memorial
to access more rubbish bins, young soldiers,
a flip-top green in plastic uniformity,
were erecting tents around the newly
re-pinned cenotaph, which had been shaken off
its plinth that night the Earthquake’s rotund bear-ness
stumbled like a man who hides his queerness
hibernating though awake, until a hundred 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 the air
to keep his balance— I should write an image
here, a passage linking one thing to the other
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
perfected 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?