august 30, 2011
off the highway now, somewhere between pt. augusta and woomera
a road that led us to camp next to the railway tracks,
with the roaring trucks in the nearby distance
“no trains will come till tomorrow,”
but it felt like it was heading straight for us.
today, the veteran of all things talking,
avon hudson made soup, full of things like vegetables.
told us about how the russians defeated the germans in WWII
with their cunning wit and foresight, their technology
to build a thousand tanks and march with Stalin through Red Square
the others thinking the germans were coming.
no, really, they beat them down, he said,
but we in the west, choose to rewrite our history
or choose to believe what suits us best.
only to hide our own atrocities, here, on australian soils
and he’s talking about Woomera
of flying Lincolns through the fallout
only to loose their voices, throats, later.
this morning a slow deep breath before that road
we’ve seen before many times,
oh, and it looks
the same as before, 3 months ago
the routine wood collection, breaking mulga
branches burning hot
tonight this dusted floor to sleep,
all those peoples stories
driving past at 110km per hour
they don’t know we’re here.