K.M. Preston: ‘The millet farmer’

The Millet Farmer

It’s joy to suck marrow, suck ’til it’s dry
At the end of the meal at the end of the day
The empty bone whistles its breath song awry.

The creek on the farm now lights up my mind’s eye
The farmer sits gentle ’neath willow tree’s sway
It’s joy to suck marrow, suck ’til it’s dry

But creek leeches lurk and the sunning snakes lie
There’s always the ones who will seek out new prey
The empty bone whistles its breath song awry.

Fresh from the lake trout, ripe tomatoes to fry
The eucalypt camp smoke so far from the fray
It’s joy to suck marrow, suck ’til it’s dry.

Snatched sleep, dream caressed by the canvas-spread sky
Are moments enough for the cares of today
The empty bone whistles its breath song awry,

These tranquil thought scatterings in full truth belie
the call of the farm-work demanding full pay.
It’s joy to suck marrow, suck ’til it’s dry
The empty bone whistles its breath song awry.

K. M. Preston