we sit on orange beams of light under gum trees in front of the church this meetup is on the jolly attended and sunny on the lookout down below, unseen miners mixalot of shouting in triumph like "LFG!" and "GFY!" lately the south side has been in the Garden Route gossip "miners are struggling on account of the congested filter, and family chores" lost their minds "some run and jump into the cloud holding their offspring" no funerals in the cloud too easy to be swallowed in aws blanket

fifty meters up the hill at the market rugby plebs watch a game on the big screen when a big patriotic boytch in leather skoen walks a line through the middle of our circle and a steady zoom pans over one anothers close up her almond eyes sign in a cool way that this is really cool to be here my nacks awake the other okes are too busy on tiptoes of extended tongues catching widow maker bark spacing out it was known the church dislikes meetups because noisy in the afternoon and sinful to get totalled on a Sunday Engels on a smoke break - cool we all were relaxed so easy as if friends open faces of which delicate introverts on a Sunday physique terracontra she flops off her beam onto uncut catholic fluffy grass and giggles another chick beside with big hands making shapes to frame her coin clipped face dating back centuries probably if I was being shafty I'd sweat it down rising a brown haze as if burning hash exhausts out of mining rigs, smells terrible "ruins the moment" commentator echoes rugby plebs are mortared uninterested we are winning in any case

while (I do prefer a surprise) I roll back into the bush from whence I came with machete and burn a minute or more chipping my floppies the cops are circling the church I get going dragging feets on the way back when blue tooth auxclick church bell bonks "probably a minute left" I announce nobody listens I sit down on a distant beam, backish, a bit sheepish "Oi, Noodles" says oke in a crows nest "there's a timer on the east side who can sort out your legs" "I don't want to go east!" I scream "I'm searching for a scammer on the south side" I fizzle whisper the rugby is finished and plebs roll down the hill spilling lager into potholes furious voices tuck and bounce off the tarmac "stick to the rules" a pleb shouts at the referee they pulled out the TV glitching on their roll

oke in nest in beano black and red stripe flaps his arms and skids down the branch into abstract range of me "What's your name, bud?" then blasted thick gum tree, also known as widow maker, yes yes, snaps to collapse demolishes on my heartbeat almond milk dud shocking over flushed thermal cheeks and an aggressive mouth popping eyes he says "It wasn't me" and grabs my floppies and ties me on his back as if a backpack and says "Let's bounce before the cop return" Is he in trouble now and again? swings me round and round blood gathers in my kop round and round I ask his name round and round his short thin sharp black long thick hair smears round and round the Engels blur in bracht round and round the bodies under the widow maker wheeze round and round we split the beams on the way out destroying anti-spam posters air borne over mining rigs south side miners spit and poke at bits of spam that crawl out of abandoned memory pools they shove any evidence into the filter on the inflating rim of the main memory pool monitored by miner Dash