This poem is to be recited in a posh voice. The subject? I’ll eave it to you to work that out. As with all of my writings, it is available for publication by negotiation only.
A WINDY NIGHT IN CAIRNS
It was a windy night in Cairns.
We had beans for tea.
I pointed at you,
And you pointed at me.
The rain fell on the roof,
And a low rumble was heard.
Was that really thunder?
Or had something else occurred?
A muffled pipe gurgled.
There was the hiss of an over-heated urn.
I played the tuba.
You trumpeted in return.
The atmosphere was rich,
Though unsuited for proximity.
The dinner was not a success.
We sought distance and anonymity.
It was a windy night in Cairns.
We had beans for tea.
I pointed at you,
And you pointed at me.