TUNNEL CREEK BY TORCHLIGHT
Tunnel Creek is for Aussie tourists, not me.
Some climb over the rocks.
Most just stand around outside in the heat
At the rear end of the monster coach,
Inhaling exhaust fumes,
Fanning themselves with the brochures,
Waiting for the next tea room,
Sweating from foreheads.
They really hate the fucking creek,
But they gotta be interested. They paid for it.
When I come out of the cave entrance,
Three hundred tourists pass me,
On their way into its old old darkness,
Dip their toes in the cold dark water.
Four white cockatoos shriek at me
From the sky in the next valley.
Never had a fucking good torch did I?
So, I couldn't go in, like them.
Boab trees on the rocky outcrop.
It's the end of the desert dog drink.
My tears here, or join up with the $80 a head
Corroboree included, wine and dine, or talk
Of the Bungle Bungle flights going broke. |