a box of used porn
a doll’s head all pouty
her lips all forlorn
the bank account secrets
of a couple from Canberra
a pile of unanswered letters to Santa
X-rays of babies not to be born.
Once a week the seagulls meet
to greet a truckload of cheese.
It cannot be sold
for it is a week old;
it’s cheaper to bury
than it is to keep cold.
Now and then the doll’s arm breaks through
the hard-baked crust of clay and dust
to warn the feral kittens that an eagle is circling.
(They say that)
tens of thousands of dollars are buried alive
never to be spent. Their lives denied.
Whether this is true I cannot say
but I found five dollars just the other day.
It was torn in two and covered in mud – yet
it was legal and tender.
It touched my heart and it made me grieve
that a grown man should still believe
in buried treasure.