Who Cares?

[thestoryteller]

WHO CARES?

Beside the entrance to the tip and painted on a sign,
was - Keep Australia beautiful or face a costly fine.
Then as I crossed the iron grid an object caught my eye.
There lying on the rough dirt track, a piece of wooden ply.

Upright, protruding through the board were nails like sharpened wire,
which forced me to respond and swerve to save a punctured tyre.
It crossed my mind immediately; how long had it been there?
For surely someone would have stopped and showed a mind to care.

The incident provoked recall and soon my mind was cast,
to early childhood days at school, way back into the past.
A king while strolling out one day, enjoying exercise,
had chanced upon an obstacle, a boulder of some size.

How long had this been on the path? Was what then crossed his mind
and why had no soul shifted it or felt that way inclined?
To gauge the moral attributes of subjects through the land,
he placed gold coins beneath the rock and stood by close at hand.

To his surprise the king watched folk, first stop, then walk around,
and all the while they cursed the rock, that lay there on the ground.
He watched them come and go for hours, but all would do the same,
not one soul moved the obstacle, and none, showed hint of shame.

Then on the scene came one poor man, now frail and very old,
though he alone was seen to act and gain the ruler's gold.
The recollection of this tale was motive then for me,
to imitate the wise king's quest and plan my strategy.

Beneath the board I placed a bill, secured there by a nail,
then hid behind some mulga trees to see what might prevail.
I watched the cars swerve 'round for hours, not one soul seemed to care
and sensed my hundred dollar bill, was quite safe lying there.

Then as I made a move to stir, across the grid there came,
a bicycle pushed by a man with frail and ageing frame.
The moment was unfolding like the story from the past,
but sadly he too swerved around, which left me there aghast.

I felt somewhat despondent for it 'roused my deepest fear;
seemed folk had lost the will to care. Their actions made that clear.
Deep down, I felt an Aussie soul was made of finer stuff
and hoped just like the king of old that we would care enough.

With heavy heart I bent on down to shift that board of nails,
retrieved my hundred dollar bill then summed up, if all fails.
Just do the job yourself old mate and do it out of love;
be satisfied that he who cares has watched on from above.

©Merv Webster

From the book Excuse Me! It's the Gidyea.

As I approached the grid to an outback town's rubbish tip, I observed a large sign advising those entering to 'Keep Australia Beautiful'. Once across the grid I noticed a piece of timber with nails protruding through it, which aroused my interest to the point of waiting to see who might care enough to take the time to pick it up. Though many swerved to miss it, none stopped. It recalled to mind a story from schooldays and inspired this poem.