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I’m sat by a river

on a tree trunk

too big for me.

Listening – to failed rowing,

the sound of dog hair

shaking water into the air

and a small boy marvelling

at a grass snake.

It’s sunny.

It’s beautiful.

It’s the first blue sky

we’ve had in days.

And yet, listening –

I overhear

a solemn omen

of our time.

Our wall street car crash

Tory white man’s glory society.

Our oil drums of Frappuccino

war torn convenience store battle.

Our countryside losing, baby boomer

snowflakes in bushfires and no rain change.

Our skinny, skinny lollipop self-love

please stop privatisation and

the sexualisation of heartbeats and breathing –

our twenty first century world.

Three girls.

Young girls, led

by iPhones not maps.

The middle says she feels

disconnected

struggles to fit in

with what we’ve become.

The left agrees

and with the sobriety

of a confessional says

‘Yeah –

I think I’ve only ever seen you cry

on Snapchat.’