Bora born

Terrys' lot _

Night rhythms on the boadwalk, bodies on
the move past tabled space, oh so narrow.
Tourists in charge, in vacation slow mo
finds no place for the catwalking sprinter.

At Terrys' he stops, his friend still on deck
from the beating he took within shadow.
Doubled then bled, on his way to the car
just in luck no boots found the pacemaker.

Cameras were found out of bounds, long hidden
by palms with long, loose, fox tails left flying.
Talk back radio, no help for this man
from a Council so falsely intentioned.

- O -

© sep 2006_ Nhawrr yirrpa


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Terrys` lot _

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