published in Waiting for the Southerly

October seems confused,
we shed clothes
put them on, look
to the sky for clues
shake our heads.

Last week the relentless
smack of blowflies
on glass, shut
against the sun
later flung wide
for any chance cool.

Next day heaters
retrieved from storage
as snow falls
in Katoomba.

At night the news
is complicated
people run with their money
presidents race to the finish line.

I’ve heard the Japanese
report on blossoms
no matter what.

Our jacarandas
I’d like to report
are quietly blooming,
each bell’s tentative swell
soon to unite
in a wild mauve

And the flame trees,
daily I rake the clumsy leaves,
above me a slow
burn to blaze.

My winter skin
will sing
when I finally take the plunge
the cold sea.

(Previously published in Going Down Swinging No. 28, November 2009 and Dodecahedron Journal of the Poets Union 2010.)