Happy New Year

Happy New Year

Well not so much a party

As a barbecue

The guests were slow cooking

Why would anybody go-ahead

With an afternoon soiree

Without air-conditioning

Thirty-five degrees of perspiration

Brought me out in a rash

Pretty young things turned away

From the meatball in the corner

With the tidal wave discolouring

The white linen

He had looked good

On the way in

A sports jockey

Who played Aussie rules

In a cricket state

Wore his hair in a mullet

It was a little limp now

Much like the sea salad on the paper plate

Thousand-Island dressing

Dripped down the front of his shirt

Until it blended in

Underarm rings were de-rigueur

The doors and windows open wide

Allowed free access to a community

Of mosquitoes

It’s all in the body language

As people either turned toward

Or away from each other

As they spoke

Step-in, step-out

Look straight into the face or over the shoulder

There were a lot of sidelong glances

Conversations were cautious

It was already too heated

For any hot topics

Which stymied the use of irony

When kitchen fanciers were

Ushered out into

Wide-open spaces

Too cool down

Under overworked ceiling-fans

It was a thankless task

Holding on to your dignity

Whilst fully dressed in a

Steam-room

Looking for shade in the flora

Whilst trying to avoid the fauna

As Gecko’s barked like wild dogs

Cicadas sang in tune to the stereo

It felt perfectly natural

To believe I saw a dingo

Hiding out in the bamboo

I was feeling receptive

Trying to keep it all in perspective

Whilst remaining open to the possibility

Of a little afternoon delight

In a semi-detached from basic reality

Kind of way

But who stole all the chairs

Who cares

It’s time to go home.