1. Arrival
there is nothing much on the coolabah road
except sheep, pubs & petrol stations
the hot smell of in-drought &
rotting foxes
rotting pigs & kangaroo
carrion in dust hit by trucks that
only travel at night
an emu chick trips in dust & the moon is
ochre reflected from dust
a pile of wild goats like shag pile carpet
pushed together in a heap even the glutted
black crows cannot penetrate
in-drought ribs protrude & breathe
within the living corpse of misery
kangaroo come into bre to feed on r.s.l.
lawns to drink from plastic water bowls
i drive into town with a broken exhaust my
spirit broken my
facial skin ochre stretched across bone
in-drought
visions of dying wheat, wool & meat i try
to find some spirit of place
but everyone here is already drunk
2. Township
ten years ago i came back to live in bre
was sober/ in love with the stillness/
the river country/ a local koori shouted
me drinks at the bowling club/ now
the aboriginal fisheries are crushed brown
glass/ reflected on the skin of our eyes/
locals drift from house to house/ drunk &
stoned/ all trying to save a few extra dollars
from their pensions/ the first night i stayed
in a house/ weatherboard & close to the past/
an inland wind shrieked in me/ the people who
knew me cooked yabbies/ shrieking & boiling
i died in the pot/ the second night they gutted
cod/ during the heat of in-drought afternoon
they talked of killing heifers/ killing time/
this is the slow death of the outback town/
gateway to the miserable west/ the polluted
darling winds slowly down to south australia/
there is no relief from the big crop duster/
in-drought no one leaves their houses &
the safety of inside air conditioners/ only
at night to fish to death the polluted rivers/
ten years on this town is a heartbreaker/ in-
drought the wild flowers/ snatched from the
grave of this dying land/ the blood of an angry
culture/ still fresh on the claypan
3. Departure
on the road out of brewarrina the red dust
covers us in hellish blankets my
father waves to me from its midst his
face hard & red from grog & sun & dust
i drive away from death too fast i
see him as reflected in my rear
vision mirror i see him as first my
father & a man & a stranger & a dot
of khaki almost as red & olive & brown
as the tired trees that thirst
in-drought
he walks slowly back into town
thongs stepping over the carcasses of
rotting fleece
he disappears from the face of the present
into his own world his own life chosen
in-drought
in bre he is happy but i feel i have
lost him like a coin in the dust
the cattle grids thunder beneath
me the hot wind shrieks in me i will
leave my past to die here my
father to live in the cemetery
