Poetry

Hungry for Carnarvon

Robyn Lance

 

Sleek from day-long degustation

cattle jaywalk or stand and stare

as we drive by, eyes wide

 

but with vision thinned by southern drought

where beasts bellow round troughs

and a white wake gathers the gleanings.

 

Fleshed and fecund, bulls knee-deep

in emerald oats seem loath

to sniff and mount.

 

Heifers chew Eden’s cud

their hides gleaming

like newly opened boot polish.

 

We drive on, hungry for the Gorge.