Great Dividing Range

Two sisters crouched in Arnhem land,
the little one’s eyes still glowed,
sheltered behind splintered beer kegs,
young noses to peeling boards,
hiding from nails and fists
over the road, between their families.
The pub chuckled and hollered,
the park echoed with fury.

It was Thursday, pay-day, 'drinks on me'.
Two reclined inside, into elbowed grooves
and gulped liquid gold at the bar. On thin legs
swollen and red, checked flannels twisted, wiry orange beards.
The men were of a group and cackled through their chops,
she heard the heated yarns, that flowed from towering stools,
they bragged about their night, with piercing, wicked grins,
"They were hangin’ round their camp fires,
lyin’ all over the place. I drove straight through 'em,
even over some fires,
must've run over 'bout eight'".

She froze then swallowed, her vision blurred,
little sister's eyes still glowed.
She grabbed her on the arm,
and raced her out the back.
Small footprints followed behind
into the land without a sound,
where so many before had survived.