When entering the Gorge, leave behind all preconceptions. Let yourself be carried off on a stream of consciousness that tickles the heavens as readily as it grinds down stone.

The Vultures Of Boxing Day

Vultures Outdoors Sunset Highway Watching Wildlife

Boxing Day, and inside the shops,

over the shelves and stacks,

the vultures are perching, ogling and gurgling

their way into the coming year, in chaotic unison,

under the sound of greetings and prompts.

The smell of woven cotton and glossy plastic hovers

in the glowing light. The hour is still young.

Today is a good day to pick a jolly tradition’s carcass

clean off the bone and look forward to another year’s

slim pickings. Boxing Day, and the vultures are pecking

their way through tomorrow’s snakes and ladders like

there’s no today, no sorrow to veil, no moment to spare.

Their sadness is dripping down their stretch-marked

cheeks in big, fat droplets of pent-up frustration,

passing for festive joy, tainting the sterile air,

burning holes in the sticky, besmirched floor

on which the shopping venues are propped,

on which the merry stampede takes place in the

name of peace and harmony, but not really.

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