in vietnam of course we’d all
be considered peasants up to our
necks in sweat & sun cancers –
our tans coooked in a coconut
sauce the cannibal implications
of which i don’t care to explore
but here where a thousand & one
dalmations sizzle on stones with
all the intelligence of their
namesakes those spotted dogs
to a soundtrack of oasis tom
jones elton & george michael
singing don’t let the sun go down
on me (i should be so lucky)
that radiant far-off fireball sends
its death rays across space to
slowly fry us on the pebbled
beach – sunbeds like flaming
takitori grills an outdoor steak
house where we liberally apply
our SPF 0.5 marinades & then
cheerfully head home to the ovens
those airless apartments where we
gasp the incendiary nights away –
of course as an australian i’m in
no position to sneer or feel
superior – our melanoma-riddled
culture taught the world everything
it knows about “the beach” or so
we suppose having failed to grasp
the fact of rome of adriatic villas
preffering instead our abominable
drawls & watching mesmerised as
our children crawl towards their own
cancerous graves facing east towards
that old enemy the one true rising sun
