We are Driving to the Blue Mountains

A speedboat parked in a scrapyard.
The Anzac bridge, like a harp, across
Darling Harbour. Which someone called
Darling Harder. Amatos Liquor Store,
You Will Be Amazed.
A tattoo down the inside of a man's
arm. Lettering as neat as machine
font.
Brick bungalows with red tile roofs.
But the red is probably painted iron.
Paramatta Road, theyre going to tear
it all down and rebuild. It's the only
bit of Australia that's reminded me
of North America. The Kenmount Road
of Sydney. Past the Sydney Olympics
facilities, just the rims of open
buildings in the trees to the north.
A concrete plant, pulling up sand the
colour of those flying foxes, and
the ginger clay of the French Open.
We're driving in a Mercedes Benz
twelve seat van. The grey pouch of
the stick shift, on the lower dash.
Couldnt they make it a little more
attractive than a hot scrotum?
That's a real Australian sky, the man
says. The one who is reading William
Hazlitt's "The Pleasure of Hating."