clouds float silent as heavenly silver goslings
on a calm azure lake, sun’s fire penetrates car
window open at the top for a whistle of wind

straggly cars and bikes and pedestrians make
their way to Melbourne Cup gatherings in
suburban back yards where last minute
sweeps are being drawn from top hats
watched by glamour of all ages in silks,
feathers and snatches of Spring flowers
and swirls of colour in local fashion stakes

at Flemington, at the real track, champagne stilettos
squeeze beside beer-swillers in queues at the
bookies waiting to place their bets, every last dollar
swept along in the city's premier race event -
it may be the final flutter for ephemeral social
butterflies on their 'one day a year' plunge

on the other side of the track, in corporate marquees
sipping cointreau, and turning their noses up at caviar
and quails’ eggs, elegance parades in ostrich feather
and alligator leather, millions in diamonds carelessly
dripping off pampered work-shy fingers and flimsy
whimsy necks, and are waited on by those who can’t
afford the day off to mix it with their mates sandwiched
near the finishing post, drunk with excitement, an
overabundance of roses and sweet, cheap rose