At Katherine's Bay

​Water washes over the road
at Eastbourne while

latte spume licks the heels of
city jeeps. The southerly lifts sand

and little blue penguins invade
the investment, once were holiday homes

where Katherine stayed and Stanley Burnell’s
children played their part,

native bush and real estate collide
in Sunday kaleidoscope sunshine.

Jonathan Trout isn’t shouting out
from the waves nowadays

he sits instead, in the shelter of the boatshed
and watches Stanley catch the ferry.

Linda feasts on eggs florentine
and Beryl’s no longer afraid

the Kember’s brittle laughter
can be heard over barbecues

and in the bush, if you listen carefully
from somewhere in the shadows

you can hear Jonathan saying,
It’s all wrong, it’s all wrong.