Golden Triangle Poem by Joanne Burns

when the martians moved in
to alaska boulevarde they
levelled the heritage dwellings
and built homes in the shape
of ovaries; on cold frosty
mornings you can see them out
on their crazy paved lawns
gilded to the hilt doing push
ups in net singlets and
smart bermuda shorts; when
they exhale the air fizzes
with the sport of tiny lime
green triangles and their silver
beet and snow pea hedges
sway in the gulf stream breeze —
like a cocktail of fresh wind
chimes their gossip begins