The Gold Coast

With sand in hand he walks the length –

Granules caught between the webbing of his toes

Dark cloud high enough and far away –

Another half hour (or more), ‘til it throws

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A bucket of tears down upon the beach

As sunshine gives way unto her voice

Nature’s mother watches overhead

And her workers supervise danger’s choice.

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Yellow and red – two colours that aren’t shy

To stand up and be counted when they’re sent

To save the hedonistic in the sun –

A life saved is a standard day’s event.

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Some watch from a distance far away –

From a window high up in the air.

They tower over tanned and topless bodies –

Telephoto at the ready if they dare.

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Thinking back sixty years or so,

‘Scrapers’ reached a few floors to the sky.

Now they reach as far as eyes can see

And developers and mayoralty shake hands

On what, earlier, was unfamiliar land.

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And what once was Surfers Paradise is now

A clearer choice – miles of busy (or secluded) beach

Progress can’t be stopped, I understand

But how high can this tower really reach?

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The woman on the beach turns to her friend

And says; “ah, but for the memories of old

Everyone grows out of what they know – is this the end?

I think I’ve found the coast without the gold.”