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SHANE McCAULEYSouth Fremantle, SummerWho calls here, despite the sun, isWelcomed easefully into the high-vaultedHouse. My heart an aeroplaneFlying in lazy circles, the futureA series of spires and spirals.In dark shops lettuces sweat slightlyon their shelves. Fruits glisten.Posters flap from walls, revealingFaded ancestors. Commerce thrivesUn-noisily. Clouds slump on the sky.At night we vaguely find a compassIn the stars, those early patronsOf our club; the breeze passesWith the day's sea on its breath.Oh yes - survival is of words, and kisses.92WESTERLY, No.2, JUNE, 1989
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