Leech
Little lug of blood. An extra toe in wet socks.
A red blister growing unseen, unfelt
in crevices and creases. It fills like a balloon;
like a haemorrhoid. A swollen berry
once carried by the dozen in doctors’ bags.
It moves like a cartoon, a mobile tap
ready to plumb a vein. Sated, it sits like a slug.
Until the host discovers this drunken parasite,
shoots salt and words and disgorges the squatter.
Eternally unloved, all a leech wants is a warm home.
Jude Aquilina
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5 mins
To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case
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23 mins
A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten
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2 mins