A few doors down at the house with the cabbage palm
where the shopping trolleys are carefully herringboned
and the kikuyu grass weaves them in green and dusty grey
the silver frames bravely winking out a survival glare
as though the front yard is a barricade of the last redoubt
Hap Hazard comes out once a big man now in the skinny of diabetes
his elephant loud steps from a hard jelly figure on jerky puppet legs
into a blinding end of winter day the verges soggy in regret
the black cockatoos flying beneath a hard Araucana shell sky
sling their raucous song stall and go after waiting on a straggler
He carries a plastic bag across each hand and will not say hello
like a musician running late he holds onto the future’s instrument
intent on stepping carefully over the lifting concrete path
all along the street the weeping peppermint gums tangle so
deep in sand and open gutters the ancient roots refuse to yield
He returns with the blonde dyed wild kid from the court opposite
figure eighting Hap and a wheelie basket for all his twelve years can muster
the modified bike no baulk for the curve as Hap waves encouragement
they take the middle of the road force the construction trucks aside
raise their throats to the sun gurgling the joy of cast-off chains
Until the guy who sleeps in an old car under the wind turbines
starts yelling about always remember your mother’s name
demanding a fight to settle the matter like a true son of the land
disturbing the fine arc of their primeval whittle of routine
that’s the thing with chaos theory – all good until it dumps you
