If you had to pin me down
Which you will
I would blame it on the heat
It drives one to do
Strange things
Like walking around
In your underwear
With the blinds up
Wear thongs to restaurants
Walk shirtless through
The Botanical Gardens
As if it were a naked
Free-for-all
Expecting shit service in shops
A five day wait for express mail
30 bucks for a tray of lamb chops
Mangos by the box in November
And a bombing by the Japanese
The rest of the country wont remember
Mangroves striating the shore
Black fellas camping
Down in the sand
What could be finer
Than a box of wine
And seafood dinner?
This city exists at the precipice
A frontier town liable at any moment
To fall into the old dialectic
Of what ails us
Will ultimately define our generation.
© shaun patrick green 2016
