antipoet's blog

xmas without snow

its roast pork and crackling on a 39 degree day

it’s a cold beer at breakfast, baked eggs, ham on the barbie, the scent of mango, pressies swapped in glee

its running under the sprinklers on a rottnest front lawn

its xmas eve, the four of us still wrapping presents at 2AM, drunk, giggling like kids – the pile under the tree a metre deep

its beach cricket after lunch, he’s out!

its baked potatoes in a caravan, drop-ins welcome

its all the prawns, all the prawns

its laughing at nanna

its life without grandads and grandmas

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