November,
month of examinations and resignations. Tense, normal, when one-more-year asks
for more explanations, less paperwork c/- our friendly robot. Roses and
eucalypts scent the air after rain. December, month of drinkies and outings. Keep
to the left side, watch for trucks and drunks. Bling in itself replaces the
thing-in-itself, as if they were ever the same. Families re-visit futures scarcely
imagined at the crib. January, when everyone goes away, into sun and surf, moonlit
bush. Sounds loud blue, bright as light, take us into heat that could catch and
burn the place black. It’s snoozy novels behind cane blinds.
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