Christmas in Canberra


That tree, from under your bed,
Fixed into a spine of pine, that is embellished
With glitter and glamour,
And on top, you find a tailed star,
That holds her place, like the full moon,
A compass to the magi, who conquered the dunes,
And in this small town,
Near the outback, you find, Christmas
Where the barbecues become
The modus operandi, as lamb shanks
Are roasted on top of a fire,
While remembering a baby’s birth,
2000 years old. And in this capital city,
That boasts a century in age, inhabitants spend their time
Looking through, all sorts of ocean pics,
Missing the blue ocean, pining for a wade,
A swim, a surf, anything to make merry,
Looking at a blue body, in sliding movements.
And here you find, Lake Burley Griffin, at the dead center,
Giving a mere trace of the ocean,
Coaxing the blued eye,
As you look out from your open veranda,
While reminding yourself of the Pacific,
A pinch of table salt, sprinkled,
All over your eager face.

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