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CAMOOWEAL DREAM
camooweal falls arse over head/ on
gutters of smashed glass/ a liquor-
heated midnight riot/ adds fuel to a
campfire/ shouting rises up to stars/
beside the semi-civilised caravan
park/ with its icecream menus and
precious sprinklers/ and hot tourists
safely fenced-in/ listen to a koori
woman/ sobbing just on daybreak/
sitting on her back step/ way out
there in the dark town/ her lover
sprawled on the lawn/ a sober day
creeping in with the first bird-call/
a verandah light brighter than the
morning/ during the night i crept
into my old tarpaulin/ blue canvas
scrunched up/ and turned on my side
avoiding a big rock/ a warm wind
from the territory blowing in/ with
a fine dust cover from stony plains
of crooked ghost gums/ when the
big desert sun rose i grew restless/
by roadtrains parading the barkly
hwy/ lined up steel grilles pointed
at the territory/ camooweal dreams
interrupted by daylight/ and so much
dry space you want to put yourself
in it/ but i'm as out of place as a
postcard rack rotating in a kiosk/
left to follow the burning rubber
of trucks/ the eh holden wedged in
between 4WDs and 20 ft caravans/
all short-term travellers bothered
by a lack of shade/ and camooweal
sleeps in late behind us/ in relaxed
preparation for friday night/ brought
to life by the bottle shop/ as side by
side we move off/ to the ceremony
of 'distance to be covered'/ in a rush
to the border or the corner pub/ all
in a hurry/ not close to this country | 
