With Men on Manly Beach

I take the ferry out of Circular Key,
we're on our way to Manly Beach, me
and two men. We'll order fish and
chips and eat it on the cement steps
to the sand. We'll watch a long wave
curl and turn white around the struggling
brown bodies of surfers with long
bleached hair. There's a wall to
the water that will last seven years.
Above us the points of porches and
swimming pools, hanging over the cliff.
Later we'll visit Rick, the
Canadian ambassador. Or maybe he's
with the consulate. That's how authoritative
this writer is. We'll eat squares
of filet mignon in a living room that
has impressions of moved furniture
legs in the beige carpets. Rick has a
swimming pool with a red maple leaf
painted in the deep end.