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Available for over a year

I should be out there again, fixing the ozone hole with sealing wax, Canuting the rising tides, keeping the polar icecaps cool with a damp cloth. But on this day – most days in fact – it’s all too much. I’ll loaf another hour in this beachfront shack watching the fire brigade in their flying boat – Custard-yellow, inferno-red - doing training drills and dummy runs in the mouth of the bay. Wherever it kisses the waves it drinks from the sea, then climbs and pisses a glitter of false rain onto make-believe flames and never misses.