Well adjusted A dull blue stackhat A little boy smothered beneath Riding shotgun If an under-over was the weapon of choice He had none Too young to have begun the callisthenics of seeing his town through more than the visor All the other stackhats were bright orange with softer insides and the kids wore them around unaware of how daggy and shielded these oversized pills made us look The local paedophile would beep his horn compulsively so you never felt singled out It was just a warning shot fired into the air from a gun full of blanks Under and over, his weapon of choice We had none Too young to have begun feeling shame too young to see more than beauty in the trees and dead carp Exploration by bike A mountain of every hill Curiosity in every descent Seated in the back basket case helmets clapping against my father as we bump and grind Peddled by big adult legs Driven by the wiser minds Stackhats and stability No plans to escape Under and over Our skinny arms bared No weapons carried No defences up Still, Too young and happy The perfect age and stage for this town Pre teen preen He wanted a new semen delivery method Because his penis was warm where it was and their cold stares weren't making it any harder The frigid air coming off the water The squeal of the starting whistle The movement of able bodied bodies While he shrunk down inside his town She stood by the pool exposed and uncool The kids spit in each others mouths now She stood in her undies in lieu of a bathing suit and wondered who'd choose her to go down, town He approached and stood behind her Sensing some form, of companion Her hair as messy as he liked She slumped, impossible to stay upright when cornered She expected a push, a nudge or a shove But he just stood there, behind her as if in line to be the one on show in this town Pious to a fault Culturally squeaking, from the left flank he called out in a whisper 'Kick it to me, kick it to me' Sans the big banner without the car toots of appreciation he quietly suggested in the meekest of manner 'Kick it to me, kick it to me' No exclamation marks apparent to all to see From the sidelines the boy viewed as a speck In the club rooms viewed as an adult He never wanted the ball 'Kick it away, from me' A huge religious procession waving flags and dirty boots storming a muddy beachhead cutting off the ovals boundary A rider, a writer caught up in the Sunday church of local fervour white line fever 'Kick it into me, kick it into me' The ball sailing over his head The missed goal from 10 in front Deliberate accidents Tryna get pulled from the front pews 'Kick it away from me, kick it' Kick it anywhere but here I'm not the mark you're looking for Only on field of dreams he makes little concessions to their faith Only on field for his fathers heart Filling a little pocket in the forward line trying his best to commit a dirty offence Get dragged again to the bench 'Kick it, this borish ritual, kick it' A wrinkled teen Fists balled into hammers Put to work On the anvil Fists, metallic that glint Fists curled like a sickle Put to work In a field Cause spot fires with their flint Toes grubby, Thong torn adrift, the button released The one side flapping Toes put to work To carry you home On sticky tar roads In this town Reach down with those firey fists Touch those dirty toes Take a deep breath and establish a routine, daily, that works in unison Maybe, swing them gayly with a steady gait till you reach the gate Leading from this town Ageing, gratefully A broad uncoiled snake skin Boiled in the light of days past Present it to the new apprentice and show him how the scales settle Under its tissue paper like veneer You'd never guess the excitement at the natural wonder As there is none so little, around us You'd never notice him remove his hoodie and flex to catch your eye Skin glistening to welcome a new season Escape plan Tomorrow, when the call began A soft spoken voice A mixture of channels garbled together A mother, a teacher, a fox They said, Trust in your plan Plan your escape But the static was heavy Hard to tell what I made Out So made up a concrete message Finger dragged across the wet cement Jade loves Chris Chris loves solitude The town doesn't know Who you are or if you leave Today or Tomorrow Separation anxiety The drain of the dirty dish Waiting, sounds off Hear them unmoved in the sink You left in the left in the left in the I hate you for leaving them there Pitter patter The sounds that matter at 3am When the air siren cant raise the alarm The smallest drop of a book as you flop off to sleep has me wide awake and leaving you there The day to come is wet cold and unwelcoming But lucidity is the only relief from tossing and turning pages of the book left unread on the floor Where you dream, deeply of never waiting or even making a move to wake in this town First car Shiny Sleek Loud Fast All the things I thought, I wanted to be But at least it'll run hot burn out enrage the cops All the things I thought of I came to be Sturt Highway Old men told us Don't stop for sleeping giants Busdrivers warned us If we stopped for gas they'd peel up off the road and eat us alive Old women told us The North is a dumpster fire as they stoked the newborn Alight Nurses forgave us for wanting to experience the blackness of our country and its yellow bellied Pride Supply run The bottle-o opens before the pharmacy in my town The liquor store serves you before the chemist in this town The, the bottle o, the magic The saving grapes Open before the breadbin in this, this town The liquor stores overflowing The saving grace, glowing The liquor stores overflowing The saving grace, glowing But the pharmacy stays closed and I need a different drug A drug of promise delivered without hope in that, that town Sodom, en route The highway out had roadworks for miles So slowly, slow we escaped It felt like a childrens ride at an amusement In our amusement we rattled the door handles and wondered if we'd ever get beyond sight of its walls We slept deeply Head against the glass and passed the chemists potion back and forth To make escape into a sport To make departure into a fairy tale Far beyond the boundaries now A new postcode, a new hat Signs that were red become green And we laugh at every adult who appeared childlike as we grew out of there Faster we drove, further we went with acute senses it would smell different New walls New mountains and falls The same despair and hope for acceptance from all I hold ungodly The tiniest of changes to the most solid of memory That which remains fluid like a lie I so well tell This, that fantasy The only true recollection I wish to share from my town