Inner City Blues

Syringes in fence palings
condoms on park benches
street sweeper drinks whiskey
at four in the morning
opera house silhouettes
the bridge of dawn
first ferry tugs out
rust and ropes
like stale sex
herald the rising sun
Circular Quay swims
with grey suits
and mid length skirts  
dark stocking like
instep, to the beat
of yesterday.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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