This was her eighties’ playlist. Deception Bay
mudflats, that brown tooth intersecting the Gold
& Sunshine Coasts’ polished smile. The quicksand
mire soft as a sea slug’s skin that bored kids poked
at in a tidal pool’s watery prison yard. Occasionally
a whale blob or baby shark left behind for dead; a
wounded gang member in a robbery gone wrong.
It’s terror disarmed by death’s arrest. & jellyfish
blooms she recorded, when the pacific heaved
thousands of spineless, translucent brains onto
the flats, seeding the beach with blue landmines.
The forced perspective of her memory making
the swarms shield the entire foreshore in bubble
wrap like a giant art installation or an album cover.