Our self-isolation isn’t like an outback
farm I read about by Judith Wright.
I remember the mom & dad were dead,
two young children left there, growing
into themselves, & the forever stockman
seemed aboriginal, a hard worker, going
into themselves, & the forever stockman
seemed aboriginal, a hard worker, going
hectare by hectare, day & night, becoming
merely the landscape. The brother & sister,
did they cook saucy victuals & waltz to 78s?
merely the landscape. The brother & sister,
did they cook saucy victuals & waltz to 78s?