green kurraba point ferry

fast of rope and fish in the sump
and the whole whiff of salt wood and spur
make broad motor heave, beam crack
and the cable zings in the cross breeze.


the prow drops and we lurch at the handbars,
sewn to line nearing the wharf
where the white flats, boutique stores and zoo are.


the jetty's peeled paint
and bollards from rusted factories,

the papery faded seaweed. my first step 

is like its on scales and i breathe ill once. 

you shake your legs and sneakers.
there's a steep hill up before the music
and drinks - we've traversed the cupped palms of bays.