7.3.2016 (#66) Cape Schank by Myron Lysenko

two young men in a white kombi van
the engine loud through open windows
radio on it’s daddy cool living in the 70’s
I’m not in Love Bohemian Rhapsody
driving a hundred kilometres to the coast

towards the cliffs and rocky beach of Cape Schank
and one says to the other, I’ll teach you how to drive
and as he’s learning to drive up the highway

they talk about relationships caving in
casual jobs as set movers for the Australian Ballet
the shock sacking of the great Gough Whitlam

they arrive at Cape Schank mid-afternoon
and there’s nobody around no cars nobody just them

so they carry backpacks and sleeping bags down the steps

the steep winding wooden steps hacked into basalt
down to the beach to the narrow strip of sand among the rocks
and they run out towards the sea drawn to it under birds
the waves rumble in front of them rushing at them
shit the tide’s coming in is it yeah run

and they run as the tide crashes in towards them over the rocks
threatening to crush them against the big rocks by the cliff
and as they jump away from the wave a  backpack falls into a rock pool
one of them retrieves it before the sea can grab it away from them

needing shelter they gather enough driftwood rock and sand
to make a tiny hut in the gathering dusk they build something
with three walls and a roof and it’s just  big enough for them
to lie in it side by side in sleeping bags
they gather firewood but the matches are wet
night falls all over them on that windy cold beach
neither of them has brought a torch
they lie in the hut in the dark eating bread and cheese
agreeing that Whitlam will surely be voted back in
and that’s when the roof caves in on them
and the walls on either side of them collapse