You are
a heavenly angel
he cried
and kissed
my mother’s bony
hand
(his shark dreaming from another time, another place)
confiding the Dingo became a rock,
and the Rainbow Serpent doesn’t live here.
We watched his friends,
enthralled,
as they,
drunken,
deftly danced the Kangaroo
to a Mexican band
on the lawns
of Trinity inlet
(thoughts turned to Mum in Broome with toothless Mary)
From our hotel balcony,
the Coral Sea twinkles below
patient fat pelicans,
travellers and sandpipers.
We offer cool coronas
(in exchange for the endless dull excitements of the young)
plus the shabby remnants of a dream
to one highly strung,
revving up for the judo championships
Wanting to know everything
but reluctant to ask,
about not quite making it to Cook Town
or why the worn out croc guide
looked like George Pell in
another life,
our savior arrives
threading her back
through mangroves
and bad attractions
to the Cairns YMCA.
With the Daintree River
still pumping through our hearts
alizarin crimson flowing aorta,
umbilical,
we watched
the sunset festival
embroidered with fireworks
together
forgetting our differences.
My truth, her truth, our truth,
no longer needing resurrection
and whether
WWII Australian soldiers
enjoyed white bean falafel
in Cairo
on their days off
was laid to rest
in Palm Cove
(alongside the uneaten
Chinese dumplings)
We walked through Russell’s
pastel landscape
where the road once led
to Cape Tribulation.
2020