My Friends the Mountains (Rosebery, West Coast, Tasmania) My father thought I was a “nance” For singing in a church choir dressed In cassock, surplice, lizard frill, My mother chased me with his belt And screamed “you little bugger” as We went. My brother was my foe, And when my sister’s coming turned My love, forbidden, into hate, Mount Black, so close our lawn was dark And wet all year, confirmed my need To hug shadows, see on nearby Sombrely grey, deceptively, Sometimes-sunlit, Mount Murchison, A face resembling mine, to which I felt welcomed to give my lone, Unforgiving, cold-hardened…
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