bone yard, south brisbane
the swings in the Musgrave Park night
rattle a morose and deserted song
throwing their voices
silhouettes across an abandoned canvas
a jungle-gym resembles the half sunken remains
of a prehistoric beast
ribcage reaching for the moonlight
or an arthritic fist
frozen in protest
the stoic in this wilderness
feeding on the scraps of light
tossed down from the pedestals