I find myself this morning on an island in a milk-white sea
Which silently by night has drowned the suburbs all around.
Civil Defence has shown itself remiss to the extreme degree
Not bringing those affected to this higher safer ground.
Those jutting chimneys, slender reefs, are marking on the surface drift
The brickworks’ kilns, my workplace, now foundered on the ocean’s floor.
Drowned, I assume, the gallant crew who manned the evening shift.
But wait! A highway leads into the depths upon that farther shore.
Some cars drive down to disappear while others driving out are clearly seen.
Life still goes on down there it seems. I’m not to get a day-off out of this.
Drat! Drat! Drat! I’ll have to pack some lunch. Warm up the Holden submarine.
Kiss the missus, just in case, and dive with fellow wage-slaves to Atlantis.