Have these tourists never seen a seagull before?
Close your eyes and it’s easy to believe
they’re marvelling over spectacular plumage,
not seen beyond taxidermists workshops
since Linnaeus fathered taxonomy.
The gulls are stalking my sandwich,
like they’re the bomb squad
and it’s a doomsday device.
I almost wish I had an air rifle,
to scatter a few feathers
and deflate the mood a bit.
The levitating reptilian
levitates the coins
scattered across his banjo case.
The guano mine in his hair doesn’t phase him.
My eyes almost land on the pavement,
as I spot a Federation era one hundred pound note,
among the fivers.
It looks as freshly printed
as the fifties the ATM spat into my world.
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for that”
I offer with surprising calm.
“I found it in a rusty old safe,
in the basement”
I tell the museum reps,
as they apply their magnifying glasses
to my random discovery.
A few tests later,
I’m admiring the Picasso fakes
on the walls of my new apartment.
“That cornflake looks like Richard Nixon”,
as I rescue it from my serial bowl,
before drowning the likenesses of lesser criminals
in chocolate flavoured soy.
Cornflake Nixon is inspirational.
He will star in an animated advertisement.
I can see the agri-giants limousines
causing a multi car pile up,
in their bid for parking spots
at the premiere.
Naturally they’ll risk financial ruin,
at the auction for the rights to
“The Adventures of Dick the Cornflake”
An advertising executive suggests quitting smoking.