Went the wrong way home,
a 45 minute detour of low income
art house movie scenes.
Western Sydney sun is
harsher than the rest of Sydney.
It wants to harm you.
Burn your eyebrows.
Seep into your shoes
and burn your toes too.
While I have breathed in violence,
it has always had its own personality.
If it’s not “your” violence,
it takes some time to get use to.
Graffitied basketball courts
offer entrees to the main course,
rows of council homes
hidden like a secret amazonian tribe
only explorers care to uncover.
I spot a stovetop landmark
in front of a driveway
and make sure to take a photo.
It will make a great supplement to my travel stories,
exaggerated over suburban dinner conversations.
These hot and bothered streets ask:
Where are all the criminals today?
Is it too hot to be about?
Lazy criminals.
Only work between 25 – 30 degrees celsius.
Lazy criminals with their one way only signs.
Is it because no one’s ever getting out?
Cycles,
generations,
recreational grasses,
now full time.
Source the dealer.
Take the dole.
Steal from your mother,
your sister,
your neighbour,
then a stranger.
Now that’s what you call progress.
Sat on your striped barbeque chair,
in mid afternoon slump.
You know that ambition lives only a few kilometres away,
but you never stop by.
It’s too far away.
Lazy criminal.
Play your part.
(Do career criminals have EVP’s?)
Out of the estate now.
Mansions on hills with views.
Proud Marys positioned on front lawns.
A nice little cul-de-sac of
white- arab- asian-italian – south american- privilege.
Disappointed to see everyone on their best behaviour.