Hamilton Island

“Hello,” they say 
with their Whitsunday smiles
white as glint.

Well, it’s true the sun brims in 
tagging bikinis
and crepe crisp pants
and noses licked with silver,

and golfing men
who follow their bellies down the street
every skin crevice 
deep with red

Crows, currawongs and gulls
haggle with tourists,
and the simpering sea...
such mute uprising
against our grime.
our sprawl of bins and buildings
and roads, and our hedges
neat as white collar crime
trimming vision.

And still I’m surrounded
by whac-a-mole beauty:
the water, the sky
and cloudless women
with fashion in their eyes

Love and distrust
hand me brochures
on the shady steps

and the seamless resort
curtsies tightly
between 1980 and colours 
we all know mean paradise.

19 thoughts on “Hamilton Island

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