For Peter Carey
An abattoir
a gun club, two prisons
rusting fences, leaning box posts
kangaroo bones.
Locusts, cracks in the clay
crumbling stone wall fences
a plough, a tray truck for sale.
milky summer haze.
Piles of rocks under trees
cars emerging from mirages
a mangled fox centre of road
paddocks stretching to the Brisbane Ranges.
Signs for Anakie
horse studs, empty dams, spindly trees
cars overtaking on corners
reasons for a novelist to leave.
