Christchurch is being tantalised
by an ongoing strip-tease show.
Most performances are heralded
by a drum roll, so any sound
that resembles a drum roll
has us on the edge of our seats
in electric anticipation.
Organisation is chaotic;
we're never told in advance how long,
what time of day or which days of the week.
A weekend vigil was not rewarded
until 10 on the Sunday evening
with a display of cleavage.
There's talk of a return season,
but we don't even know how long
the current season will endure.
No wonder, we're all unsettled.
You have a new reader (Will) who enjoyed this poem.
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