The Match


An ambition of princes

lit that brushfire.

With kindling of privilege

& an excuse of the chill

they’ll go on to burn most of the forest

then clear the remainder as prophylactic,

a plan for a future.


Eventually nothing now left to incinerate.

Certainty is like asbestos

protects so well

it kills you.


Rain comes.

There’s a new narrative, a story or excuse

about the wildlife overpopulation problem.

Potential Farmland is wasted on

invasive waves of ochre-brown fur,

hundreds riding the glut. Just so many pests.


I wanted to write abundance

full lakes, cascades

& then tease a twist of blue from the sky.

Marsupial eyes in the underbrush,

interested but aloof.

Waratahs free to tell rich crimson jokes,

we really need a good laugh, not

this polemic (unified as it is,

so many screeching the same complaints

like an electrocuted choir).


But we are tied onto the change

& now when sky drops its smoky coat

that torn blue is just another mockery.


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