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I met a friend in spring of '98.

He flashed a smile and dabbed paint,

hot, pink and lots of it,

right on my forearm.

With a giggle he turned his back

hopped from foot to foot

and continued on his masterpiece.

. . . .

'Power Rangers!" he exclaimed

as he pressed a little plastic gem,

hot, pink and glittery,

onto my hand with a blob of glue.

With a thrust of his fist triumphantly

in the air he chuckled


and continued on his masterpiece.

. . . .

Winking he stirred his mango daquari

flicked some on my serviette,

hot, orange and icey,

with a small black straw.

Cheekily 'oppsing' he flicked a little more,

looked down innocently

and continued sipping noisily.

. . . .

Hyde Park he sat, stirring his semi-melted

strawberry sundae,

strawberry, pink and milky,

exclaimed loudly at the copulating couple

in front of us,

smirked when I spilt my icecream

and continued to play with his sundae.

. . . .

Ackland Street he ordered

'strawberry skinny-milk milkshake',

strawberry, pink and milky,

mumbled 'diet' and winked

offered some to me, but changed his mind

and continued to slurp intensly.

. . . .

In Sydney I sit at a Hyde Park bench

remembering the sticky times,

pink, icey, sticky, glittery,

missing my best friend.

Smile silently, tear trickling,

I continue to reminise.