Privacy

Two women,
one middle aged and one older,
maybe the mother,
pause their walk through Browns Bay New World car park
to look at a dead bird
which has crashed into the headlight of a parked car and smashed the light.
The bird is tangled up.
One white feather flaps in the weak breeze.
The older woman squats on her bony haunches and says
‘poor thing.’
I walk off quickly.
The footpath glares up into my eyes.
Across the road the people at Starbucks shimmer in the heat,
an oasis of coffee drinking teenagers
and tiny dogs tied to wrought iron chairs.
That poor bird.
There’s no dignity in such exposure,
especially not in the Browns Bay New World car park
where heaps more clueless bitches won’t get that it just wants some privacy,
for fucks sake.