The bay flat as an omelette
and fried to lace at the edge.
Ernest people walk the hard-packed sand;
they seem introverted or despondent.
I love the marram grass
between the boardwalk and the waves.
The marram grass is like me:
a little out of place.
I am one of those people who carries
out-of-placeness around with them,
like an overcoat.
I am always a little wrong,
as though someone may have cut me out
and stuck me on.
There is not enough time in one lifetime
to find out where you fit.
Once, I sat by the creek with a small campfire
and a billy of tea-
even then, I couldn’t settle.
I felt the eyes of my own torments