The ridge along Tramican Drive
Sits high behind Home Beach.
Expensive designer kitchens overlook
Expensive northern views.
Dog’s paws track west
Meandering erratically after tennis balls
And lumps of driftwood
In and out of lapping waters
Sniffing for signs of mates.
Surging across the expanse of sand
Flushing the reeds and dark-stained lagoons
Merging with ghostly tea tree swamps
Hiding the east coast road from
Humans and dogs and dolphin.
My lost orange earplugs wait to be retrieved
At Adder Rock
Where the tide’s western sweep slows
To negotiate the headland.
Fishermen gather there too
Casting brightly coloured lures into
The gutter formed by the constant
North westerly current.
I look in their buckets for clues
To their evening’s investment.
And find only the smell of two day old bait.
Neither silver fish nor orange ear plugs greet me.
As the sun sinks, a glow of molten gold
Throws millionaires drive into silhouette
The pedigree hounds settle on their polished wooden floors
Another punishing day complete.
Steve Capelin © 2009