The weather is mid-season, when old men start wearing overcoats 

And young women are still in shorts that are still too tight 

To show off their perfect legs, with bare arms and breasts alight 

The aluminium statue of “dog” — famous for being eviscerated 

With exposed tripes like a car engine — does not attract the pigeons frustrated

because dog has been shafted by well-meaning rainbow leaning council votes

And replaced with a coloured boxes stack of super-woke diversity. 

Nothing new beyond the same adorable mess of lonely people in pain

Happy couples and families walking their dogs while others dismount their bicycle

At the Hub reincarnated from a porno house into a Saturday junk-sale remains

The Orange washing-van washes the clothes of the homeless plus dry cycle

While they wait, not quite naked but probably getting cold 

The trains rattle beneath the feet. The tracks are old

Well-maintained and well-signalled. The stocks are new, apart from the country trains

Built more than forty years ago to specifications designed for an eternity

In Newcastle, somewhere north of Sydney on a beautiful day

Old customers of the pubs, some single, some side by side at the opened window panes

Loners, mates or lovers, in front of a couple of half-drunk frothy glasses, 

Watch the diversity crowd pass-by as if a procession of respectable nobility on asses… 

Cars, trucks, buses, electric bicycles, traffic lights and forking streets 

Ornate facades above shops and restaurants overlooking the slow moving backdrop of traffic. 

It is busy, yet peaceful, because people prefer the happy fading sunlight 

To the anger of wars somewhere else, which are not mentioned in the demographic 

Not even on the half-senseless graffitied walls. All people, if not most, are holding back the night

For their hunger nightmares that they visit as they deprive themselves of sweets

And of a proper meal, to feed the dog

                          As one is not lonely when one has a dog 

Meanwhile

The enemy is everywhere. 

You must trust the plan. 

This is a dangerous game…. 

Out there…. 

In a way no-one would have imagined…. 

Clichés abound on the net-tele if you bother to be hooked on junk-viewing

Of well-crafted fake shows about the deception of fake human evildoing

While the loneliest man in the world is condemned before being judged,

Being innocent in a prison for murderers to become insane

Caught in the isolation of one’s own mind, to suit an institution savagely inane —

A government of crooks represented by an impotent spiritual new king of devious kings

In a decrepit empire, with promises of sharing diverse faith in godly things

With a glorious coronation of gold and diamonds thorns

It is the season, when the stupid warriors go to war to be killed by bullet storms

Under order from the deranged leadership of warmongering neo-cons

The enemy is everywhere. 

You must trust the plan. 

This is a dangerous game…. 

Out there…. 

In a way no-one would have imagined….

The weather is mid-season, and few people really care

A minute beyond our little spoon-fed rarefied atmosphere

                   Robert Urbanoski

Friday 5 May 2023

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