Wallaby Jack
Spring had come in with a bang and God the days were hot
and everyone was talking ‘bout the rain they had not got
Jack thought that he would melt into a gigantic grease spot
it was time to take a big break from the city.
He dreamt of rocky creek beds, catching salmon on the fly
and tall and shady gum trees. Watching satellites drift by
at night beneath the glorious expanse of open sky
void of street lights which they’d left back in the city.
He loaded in the snatch ‘em straps the winch and extra chain,
then threw some rolls of mesh as well just in case there was rain.
The factor 3 and Aeroguard, extra cans of butane -
preparation for the trek out of the city.
They left town bright and early on a Sunday afternoon...
he’d planned to leave that morning but it wasn’t opportune,
his kids and wife were crabby. Oooh the wrong phase of the moon
and the holiday was not looking real pretty.
‘I’m hungry are we there yet?’. They were barely out of town.
‘Are you sure you’ve packed everything?’ said wifey with a frown,
‘and what about the life jackets ? Don’t want the kids to drown’
The old bloke collecting tolls looked on with pity.
Five hours drive on country roads dodging emu’s and roos
they pulled up at the servo for some petrol and some booze,
Angels and Devils marked the doors – do kids know how to choose?
Someone it seems must have been feeling witty.
With family all fed, fuelled, toileted and sleepy now
they hit the frog and toad and headed onward to Blue Cow,
he’d eradicated hitches , to his missus he’d kow tow
though she kept on whinging that her hair felt gritty.
There were caravans in front of them and caravans behind
all tortuously straining upwards on that mountain climb.
Grey Nomads on the wallaby and they found it sublime
but Jack wondered now who was left in the city.
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet