THE CORELLAS OF WARNERS BAY
Down at the Sports Club by dawn,
they hang and spin on halyards,
free-fall like surrender flags.
Morning’s spent in the parks,
a gang of avian ghetto-blasters,
headbang and forage for seed.
Crops full, couples canoodle on power
lines, rest in roosting trees
Late afternoon, they skim the lake
fly in formation, a flotilla of hang
gliders heading for shore.
There, they congregate, defying
the lockdown, muscle each other
as they drink from dog bowls
at bubblers beside the path.
At dusk, dare-devils twirl on
whirly birds, hang from palm fronds,
strip wires, tear leaves off trees.
Pairs of punks on bare branches,
bloodshot eyes hyped on adrenalin,
tripped on their misspent days.
