public sculptures

we're on the road to geelong, going past a public sculpture. 'ah ha, gynies!'

'they're supposed to be decomposing leaves, not gynies.'

'gynies!' there's quiet while we listen to my new mix tape, playing slow like when the batteries  run down in your walkman.

'i guess most public sculptures do look like boobs or erections,' says mr bies, on reflection. 'or anuses.'

'what about the yellow peril? the vault. which one's that?

'none of 'em. that's why it got rejected.'