Be all the blue you don’t want to see in the sky
That bitter note of sunshine rules the skies
Blow up the water tank the roos don’t mind the bangs
Leave the pieces laying on the dust
Silky dust wanting water and somehow I don’t care
Under the verandah the clouds are gathering
Could this be the end of all we’re hearing now
Or is this the only thing keeping us sane.
All I see of me is my shadow on the wall,
Walking down the hall thudding on worn carpet again.
Everything I write comes back to the word drought. It’s not the worst word once you get to know it.
Quilts hung in the shade of a dusty day,
Shift in the breeze, in a relaxed sort of way.
Waters dry quickly, alone in the sun,
Out the back door, bold days have begun.
A little line of ants is crossing my backyard
All undeterred by the rocky way and hard
In the twilight rain trickles onto hard packed ground
Thick quilted clouds in grey muffle any sound
I’m leaning on the back door, drinking in red air
The silence seems to say, speak only if you dare
Dark green trees against a rain heavy sky
The restless wind has stilled, and no bird wants to fly
The trees nod in the stillness, to cicadas singing
And the little line of ants goes on, ignoring raindrops flinging