Dew from the roof is dripping in the down-pipe.
A solitary wisp of cloud evaporates.
On one hand cockatoos are repossessing
the city, on the other, the monsta truck.
Can it be too soon to start making a list
of things you really should get round to doing
(like planning a holiday specially to quench
a passion for promontories and isthmuses)
before you wind up waiting for the charge nurse
to come with her trolley and dole out the pills
or watching your visitors think as they try
to be cheerful, I will be reduced to this?
But they won’t know that; they won’t even know that,

even if here it can be too late to find
yourself on the receiving end of history.
A beautiful day for it means traffic jams.
Bellbirds are spreading steadily downriver.
On one hand, the mute button, on the other
obligatory necrophiliac close-ups.
Amazing how quiet it looks out the window
as colours and west-facing walls lose their warmth.