CAMP DOG
the life losing drag of gorged ticks as i pluck
them off with tweezers/ grape shaped bodies buried
in the skin of camp dog/ a lot of blood for a little
dog & a bloody stump for an anus/ they found me
weeping/ pieces of tick & dog stuck to my wrists/
& dust thick blood wiped from my tearducts/ it was
no surprise when my father said: 'e's no good/ yar
betta orf puttin' 'im down'/ camp dog's toenails
rip my dress/ local koories walk by the royal with
the other camp dogs/ & my father says: hundreds of
'em at the tip/ abos' dogs/ shoot 'em if i get the
chance/ the bone of the town is turned on me/ the
outback darling breathes green algae/ & the fleecy
white corpse of humanity turns slowly in it/ the
streets of bourke are ribs from a body that walks
without dreaming/ i hear about its feral children
who smash the windows/ who jump the fences to steal
the vegetables/ i hear 5600 dogs in a town of 2300/
the long low howl of a brewarrina sunset which makes
my skin crawl/ & twilight fights in a town overstocked
with dogs/ bloated dogs to be shot as food for other
dogs/ mangey tip scavengers with no vet/ i am left
kneeling in the street/ facing a sky empty with the
risk of sunstroke/ ticks turning in dirt/ & bulbous
sacks of blood to be disregarded or popped/ i haven't
the energy to burst things open/ like pods or eggs or
blisters/ or the balloon-shaped bodies of ticks/ i
grow tired of cancerous towns & cities bleeding the
dust to death/ my eyes sting from sleepy moistness
or from tears/ with too much red from fingertip to
forearm/ i cannot wipe it away with the rage, the rag
that twists moisture from its ends like a worn out
washer/ when camp dog's arse is free from ticks i
will squash bodies in dirt/ & camp dog will follow
its mates back to dodge city & town tip |
