Seashore Expedition

Fisher wearing an avant-garde hat,
To today’s enquiries,
But would’ve been seen in the 80’s,
Little girl beside him,
Wading like a heron,
Wearing a blue frock that must be from the fifties,
I see now why the family’s regarded as strange,
Flair at the slow trudge through the sand,
Contagious senses from the watered bay,
As dolphins In a festive air,
Laugh at the green embroidered orca whale,
On the pier down the south side coast,
Awkwardly waiting with my brother for the pastries,
Building a fever in the crisp winds,
The currawong asks for some offering,
Perching on the hollow fence,
Shrouded by wattles and others,
Behind the sandy path lies my oceanic shore,
Which I narrowly loathe,
Even though the thought is not so awful.