Enough with trying to squeeze a thought into 14 lines of roughly 8 syllables each. Today, an impressionistic moment:
Sonnet 9: South Bank
Thursday morning in the city
at the Ice-Cream-Brand-Name Beach
and Other-Brand-Name Fountains, pretty
children with one adult each –
mothers, aunts, great aunts, grandmothers
a dad or two – and sundry others
deploy the sunny Brisbane day
to better ends than making hay.
A squad of teenage girls come jogging,
uniformed, with in-ear buds.
A skateboard ollies, grinds and scuds.
I sit and eavesdrop, rhyming, blogging:
‘Mummy, sunscreen!’ ‘Splash me!’ ‘What?’
‘Oh my god, how can you not?’