“Flip flops” take me back
40 years – grey rainy
holidays to Blackpool, Newquay, the Isle of
Man (there for a motorbike race),
Battersea funfair where
FUN meant sticks of rock,
amusement arcades, buckets & spades,
cockles leaking vinegar, donkey rides and
fortune tellers.
Now the easterly blows
35 degree summers as I
ride my bicycle just
like the ten year old
who migrated to
Australia, and you bought her
a gold Malvern Star from
K-Mart. Now the easterly
buffets me down streets
where hairdressers,
podiatrists, Dome Cafe and
Gloria Jeans await the influx to
just-painted apartment
blocks, multiple For Sale
signs already peeling while
tradies’ vehicles fill
car bays, and yesterday’s
flip flops
become today’s


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