A social site for poets in Sydney.
There was a man up a pole,
Who swayed and dangled a dance,
agitating pigeons and sparrows,
Diligent birds eyeballed this pendulum
Chirping a stupendous chorus.
The ultra violet
Emptied tool belt
Dripping spittle onto the hood of his Renault van
Maybe four hours past
And still the chattering birds.
By now the man was fatigued
And the wind had died
And all that could be heard down the green country lane
Was the sizzling skin of the man’s skin being fried.