You watch the stars
An astronomy of
How can these tiny suns
With the wet autumnal breeze?
Streetlights on raindrops,
That is all.
The wind and the mottled sun
And the susurrate of the leaves
The groan of a bound branch
The brittle manducates of leafy litter
The sharp crack of a fallen twig
The hoarse shuffle of decomposed granite
The gossamer sigh of disturbed humus
The dust and the spores and the scent and the powdery mildew
The coarse, the smooth, the lustrous, sharp, aggressive, puncturing
The mesmerising, sensual, phallic, yonic, the seduction whipping into such a frenzy
A burning passion for this shy virgin
If only to consummate our lust…
I mark her nubile flesh with an axe, a chainsaw, a big yellow bulldozer.
We stand in the shadows of the towering eucalyptus while the tutelary arms of Grandfather sway
Birthing Grandmother remains aloof, she is not for the men amongst us. Mount Langi Ghiran looms ominous and no one notices the missing clouds.
We stand in the shadows of the towering eucalyptus, amidst the shards of bark
and byssus tufts of fescue.
The screaming of the cicada’s and the grunts of the grey currawong
drum out the drone of the blue tail flies. No one notices the absence of bees.
We stand in the shadows of the towering eucalyptus, the protestors, the police, the media, politicians
and the Djab Wurrung people. We wave the great Australian salute and squat
on haunches to draw idly in the dirt. No one notices the lack of ants.
We stand in the shadows of the towering eucalyptus, polarised views of exploitation Those that have had enough, those that want more, those with a need for progress
And those for whom time stands still. No one notices the forsaken numen.
We stand in the shadows of the towering eucalyptus, reaching for a consensus, leave the grandparents and give us a park, Aunty Ola can run the kiosk. Everyone shakes hands
for the cameras. No one notices the cyanosis.
Mother and Junior watch Father
Slice the hamburger into three,
A piece each.