Under the Flight Path
They are close enough to touch
to read the names on their tails.
They only give us Sunday morning off.
So super low, so over head.
What the prime minister is saying on TV
is drowned, what she finally admits to me
becomes inaudible, the yapping dog at 86
has been hushed, there is a gagging order
on all boisterous children in Terry Street
you cannot hear cannot hear one thing
except the tinnitus
after the Spirit of Australia has passed.