Oberon

there’s scruples in the lessons travailed
hymn of him gone Oberon way with
a fire-brand in his eyes, droving,
seeking only water-tank Golems -
he arches left through tense Lantana
and seeded eucalypt crushes
that’ll be the necessary
‘indolent and capacious’
‘more fuel than last time’
‘only the timid, I love –
that’s the least of the dividers
that mark, there on the trail
between the Holden, rusted
ochre, an dirt-paint bleached
I make a dark circle, walking
the route more times than ants aroused
it always sweeps to the left,
past the first, past the second
fire-trap, scorch tin-foil mark
empty ‘2-minute’ wrappers litter
tagalong patois cities
a dreaming from the time
outlander, starch white, stiff cane
stumble stumble to a carve mark
they met this tree, a bollard to death
boil leather to thicken the gruel,
horse-jerky for the road
bury a buckle for all to find
something tells me the mountain’s
insurmountable
but bitumen eat through trestle-tables
and picnic spots
gilded tractors, primary slick and painted solid
they don’t allow tree-houses anymore
too much pin-stripe action and
aspirational summons
close the parks, fold up the cinder-block castle
‘it’s too Norman, don’t you know’
‘but Battersea is closed’
‘farewell to old Eng –
we’ll not find acacial-fields or Banksia men;
they’re spending cheques at 6am pubs,
scrubbed up for pay-day, the welfare
all allotted, neat, sleeved portions
head up to save money,
facing Mecca for all we know -
isn’t isn’t good no longer
they taught me to ride a bike there
chain-teeth, prop down, revved
in a blue woolen jumper.
They’ll find the body with a teddy-bear -
someone has sown it magenta over-alls,
their buttons match
‘found one’
‘not dark, not like –
‘the rest, no.’