Back to Bush Poetry

By Janine Haig

So you're the mob got all the rain while we got hardly none;
The clouds massed over your place and left us with the sun.
Your bit of sky grew darker, while we just got the heat -
I watched the storms a-building… my thoughts were not too sweet.
I caught a whiff of dampness as the wind began to gust;
It blasted all around and then it drowned us in… red dust.
Lightning filled the heavens, caused havoc with the power;
Yes, we got the black-outs… but we never got a shower.

I hope yer sheep get flyblown,
I hope yer fleeces rot;
I hope the'roos find all yer grass
And eat the bloody lot.
I hope yer cattle choke on weed
And then all get the shits;
I hope that when it rains again
Yer roads all fall to bits.
I hope the burr-bush thrives and grows
And spreads across yer land;
I hope yer stock gets nicked when
All that rain dissolves yer brands.
I hope yer fences wash away
And all yer horses roam;
I hope a heap of nasty leaks
Will moisturise yer home.
I hope that big green slimy frogs
Will populate yer loo;
I hope that they serenade you
'till yer ear-drums break in two.
I hope yer dogs all get webbed feet
And keep 'em for all time;
I hope a million bog-holes
Will then turn yer place to slime.
I hope the creek beside yer yards
Will shift 'em from their site;
I hope the hopes I hope for you
Will keep you up all night.

I heard a plague of locusts have attacked your place this

While we, with all our dryness, haven't got that problem


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