In a state of being cushioned, with a paper plate of cheesecake
and a cardboard cup of coffee at a cafe,
from a higgle-piggled parent-pulling pandemonium
of supermarket checkout prams and trolleys,
while endeavouring to pen a ballad set within the landscape
of a bustling shopping plaza in the burbs.
Am I the only person here who’d rather down a schooner
at the RSL and rack a clutch of billiards?