Eating out in Adelaide

Table tilted twixt pavement and the street.  Trams hoot and judder behind. In front a parade intent on Saturday night, from posh to poverty. Gentleman's Club video plays behind tinsel-haloed angel-winged passer by and Abo intent on stealing serviettes is arm-locked and tumbled to the floor. Twice.

Bar in Darwin's Mitchell Street

"Two pints of Fifty Lashes. please."

"Pints? Big glasses?" Barmaid indicates with hands apart. Takes one from depths of storage to show us.
"Yes", we nod, mildly bemused.

Darwin, Adina

Waking in hotel room
trying to remember
the contours
Was that a recess?
Are there Venetian blinds?
Then colours come
and shapes
Some blue into the mocha of the room

Last night's Indian meal - cultural adjustment

Four deep-dyed Scousers
returning, from their conversation,
from a boxing event,
several times demand samosas
buttonly once say 'fuck'.

All changes when three locals
take a table across the aisle
whereupon they trade four-letter words,
friendly as could be.

On my way to buy a morning paper #86

Just round the corner
a banana skin
so fresh I guess the dropper
still chewed the final bite.

Three or four steps on, a rose
whose pale fat swollen pinkness
imitated mouth-cloying scented fondant.

And on return, I win my bet -
the banana skin uplifted and flown elsewhere.