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-
- 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.]