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A man walks past the Bathers sales office in Collaroy. He’s a stocky man in his 30s wearing a brown jacket, a brown cap, brown shorts, and a backpack with attachments that sway as he walks. The outside of his calf is black with tattoos, like an abyss.
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A tall young woman in black breaks into a run, and her wrists fly out to the sides.
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A worried woman stands by the bus stop pole at the edge of the footpath. She has a scarf wrapped round her hair, is plump, and wears an off-green t-shirt with black pants that conceal her shoes. The t-shirt is snagged in the waistline and hitched up at the side. In front of the woman stands a blue shopping trolley. Its wheels are white with blue centres, and a cloth bag is looped over the handle. The bag is purple but the strap looped over is orange. The woman holds her fingertips together, fidgeting.
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Rooted: Milsons Point, Sydney

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Putin’s trip to Luhansk is all front,
Using officers groomed for the stunt,
And a stage fitted out
As the worthy redoubt
Of a slimy, degenerate runt.🇺🇦
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The Queen Victoria Building. York Street, Sydney

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Putin’s visited troops at the rear -
So he says, but the facts are unclear:
For in footage collated
And geolocated,
The dictator doesn’t appear.🇺🇦
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Where Pigeons Dare
Milsons Point Station, Sydney
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Far-removed from the catus in Cato,
Putin frowns, like a puzzled potato,
A delusional spud
Coming down with a thud
Cause he’s doubled his border with NATO. -
Behind Victoria’s Back: Near Town Hall, Sydney

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Beside the tracks is a waterlogged paddock, an island of grass, and a grazing horse.
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Paddocks climb towards the forest near Otford, and horses graze by the fence.
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An island, some metres in length, stands in the Cooks River near Wolli Creek. Just beyond it, two sunlit pelicans stand in the water.
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Approaching Town Hall Station: a man heads for the stairs with an evil laugh, pressing a phone to his ear.
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A girl sits vacant-eyed on the train, chin in hand, fingers splayed, little finger resting on her lips.
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Fining Up
York Street, Sydney, looking towards the Town Hall

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Putin’s talked through his arse from the start;
Now his underwear’s falling apart.
Take ‘petard’, often pinned,
From the French ’to break wind’,
And he’s hoist by his own little fart. -
Dogs Do Sushi

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An entity rises in the seat beside me, as my fellow-traveller struggles into her rain jacket.
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In Neutral Bay, a cafe window showcases two fat croissants, and the couple sitting down to eat them.
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Each time a passenger stands to leave the bus, a child’s voice at the back calls: ‘Bye bye!’
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Above a shopfront awning on Pittwater Road, a cardboard carton sags through a broken window. The edges of the glass are covered with tape.
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A fragment of sunshine hits the bus queue in Dee Why, and every raindrop is a shaft of light.
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The Order of Courage is spawning
In Russia, but not for the fawning;
Its recipients, cursed,
Have to detonate first,
Which for some may be seen as a warning. -
Down on the Surface
