Poetry

Hungry for Carnarvon

Sleek from day-long degustation

cattle jaywalk or stand and stare

as we drive by, eyes wide

but with vision thinned by southern drought

where beasts bellow round troughs

and a white wake gathers the gleanings.

Fleshed and fecund, bulls knee-deep

in emerald oats seem loath

to sniff and mount.

Heifers chew Eden’s cud

their hides gleaming

like newly opened boot polish.

We drive on, hungry for the Gorge.

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