An ode to the guy who wore his scarf on the train this morning... Close all of the doors, shut the fly screen,
Prevent the skin from burning with a layer of cream,
Silence the heater and after the sun
Bring out the citronella, let the mozzies come.
Let buzzing bees circle jacarandas overhead
As if we didn’t get the message Winter Is Dead,
Put the lawnmowers back in the shadows of the shed,
Let the lifesavers wear their yellow and red.
You are hot, they are hot, we are hot, that is hot,
Every day of every week, and it is hot.
At noon, at midnight, it is always frickin’ hot;
I thought that winter would last forever: it did not.
The scarves are not wanted now: put back every one;
Pack up the boots and bring out the thongs;
Pour into the ocean then skip across the sand.
For everything is hot now, Summer is at hand.
Apologies to W.H Auden and Funeral Blues. But a scarf in 33 degrees? I know you would understand.