34-37 Degrees South: Easy reading version

At Bass Point
Norm Fairbairn
At Bass Point
lovers crocheted together tan and stretch
pointing north towards Warilla and the lake.
The hang glider pelican at full spread
occupies the same amount of sky
as the flock of gulls above it.
At Bass Point
there are no meeting rooms, no plug ins,
no screens to premiere both good and bad corporate pictures,
no docking ports and no swipe cards to the reserve.
Here after-work drinks are served all day
and every deadline moveable with the tide.
At Bass Point
the sapphire blue
cuts through the rock shelves
filling sharp canals running landwards,
its shoreline ruled by the unshaven in crumpled hats
who see the funny side of an empty hand line,
local gulls who never want to see another city
form focus groups where bait fish swirl.
At Bass Point
you cast off all your bad decisions
Luna Park smile at the good ones
and become that gull.
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