High on the low down (even though I have to jump), reprise

in these streets
they still play end to end
and three goals in

the old mine siren sounds
at midday, every day,
as though the shift will come up

one coaled nationality

the sea filled shafts on overflow
tomorrow’s cars on nature strips
turbine shadows calling time

sand dunes bleat for patience
turned over bellies sun up
fine ground as bone and promise

the shoreline recess no compromise

the thud of the footy landed
a yell of the mark taken
a Macedonian’s freak goal

I ask the Malaysian guy
for the correct pronunciation
of Number Four

he laughs with me and says, Number Four

putting down the Singapore noodles
the Sherrin’s in my hands to pass
the Sudanese kid seems eight foot tall

probably twelve years old

I do my famous stab drop kick pass
he jabs it through the pencil pines
one kid says not fair

well, a high five’s only got one translation
(even though I have to jump)

The local Primary School kids’ privacy wall around the pool.

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