In a brick veneered wasteland
of straight-jacketed lawns,
trimmed hedges and short, swept driveways,
heated tarmac shimmers the view.
Tension, like cables
jack-knifing across streets,
fence suburbia in.
It will pass – this air.
Dragonflies will cease and possums too
A roof tile will slip; grass will brown.
In the distance, traffic thrums,
a startling train echoes across shallow valleys.
The city slumbers.
