Hotter weather tomorrow

By Adam Gibson ©

and Wynyard and its echoes of Asia,
and an older Australia of dusty shops
and milk shakes and rice puddings
in city cafeterias when Sydney
seemed so much more mysterious
but now all is easily revealed
and we kissed trying not to be seen
but aware of dozens of eyes
across those gritty tiled floors
and she disappeared towards the platforms
and the metal tracks
lying like horizontal scaffolding
to the suburbs to the west
while i ran up the arcade and
hit George St at pace
with five minutes to catch the Rose Bay ferry
and i tore down Bridge St
onto Pitt,
under the Cahill Expressway
like a lick-lipped bowling ball
scattering the miscelleneous meanderers
and made the ticket gate at 5.49pm,
one minute to spare,
and i landed onboard:
soon after; the cusp of moon
hangs like a fingernail
in the orange blueness of the sky to the
west-sou'-west and the nor'-easter wind
has a bit of bite to it and they are predicting
hotter weather tomorrow
as my face is blasted by crazy salt
and i lick my lips and taste
her lips still there.