Happy festive season, everyone! Please enjoy my sad weird poem about Xmas in Brisbane’s ridiculous heat.

[Image description: picture of an Australian beach decorated with illustrations of a sun, cherries and holly. A poem is written over the top of the image:

The true meaning of Xmas in Brissie:

• The beach, with its recurring applications of
  sunscreen, so your skin feels sticky and sea-
  serpent-slick, your cheeks fever-
  warm, your hair sea-salt-crisp.
• The deli slices of turkey and ham, rolled-up
  and sweating on a paper plate adorned
  with plastic holly.
• Your relos singing raucously to songs about
  snow, while you hoard ice down your shirt
  and the gullies of your body become
  swamp-like and dripping.
• Your cousins playing in the blow-up pool filled
  with ice water. You dip your feet in and drink
  chilled white wine, hoping to delay heat-
  induced nausea.
• Grazing on leftovers from the fridge for days,
  cherries sitting wrinkled and abandoned
  in the crisper.
• Back home, a moth jitters in through your
  open window. It abruptly gets sucked in, shredded and
  spat out by the rusting 10 buck Kmart fan
  whirring beside your bed.]